Draco Malfoy and the Honeymoon Sourness
by Crumple-Horned Snorkak
Summary: Just when you think your family's reputation has hit rock bottom, one of your Mother's schemes to restore it is to hitch you with a girl from a good old wizarding family that hasn't been connected with, you know, the Dark Side. Only wife dearest has plans of her own, a complete disregard for all that is proper, and might just be plotting the ultimate shame upon the Malfoy name.
1. 1 - What's Free-Will Got To Do With It

**Warning:** This story is rated M, because there might be some stronger language, sensitive subjects and racier scenes at one point or another. If you're not comfortable with this, proceed with caution and please do not hold it against me XD

 **Disclaimer:** I write this merely for my enjoyment and yours, I do not derive profit from it. Everything recognisable belongs to j k, I am merely borrowing her magical world and characters.

* * *

 **Chapter 1 – What's Free-Will Got To Do With It?**

The mid-afternoon sun is stubbornly trying to seep through the heavy dark curtains covering all three floor-to-ceiling windows in my bedroom. The unbidden thought that this would have been a nice day to play Quidditch pops in my mind, and then I quickly shut it down. That was _before_.

I can hardly recall the last time I played. Probably in my fifth year. That was basically the year I last did most things I used to like to do. After that, came the things I had always _thought_ I would like to do, and from then on it's been pretty much all about the things I _have_ to do.

And speaking of things I have to do, there's the impatient knock on the door, followed by the thousandth reminder of what I have to do today.

"They're expecting you in less than an hour, how much longer are you going to take?" Mother hisses as she comes into my room, purses her lips in obvious displeasure at my appearance and takes upon herself to fumble with my collar and smooth the robes on my shoulders. Then cups my chin forcefully and, inspecting my face with her lips even more pursed, if possible, accuses "You're pale."

"I've always been pale, Mother." I say, resisting the urge to roll my eyes.

"Well, you're looking positively sickly."

"Then maybe I had better not go." I say, pulling free from her hold and turning back to the full-sized mirror with just a hint of a sneer "I don't even see the point in going, Mother, you've already arranged everything, anyway".

"It's a formality." She replies simply "And one you will observe with all the dignity and grace that is expected of you."

* * *

I Apparate in the middle of a lone dirt road cutting through rolling green hills. To my left, the road disappears down a slope, at the foot of which I can glimpse a church tower and a few little houses. To my right, the road leads down to a small roman stone bridge across a stream, and then up to a Tudor-style manor house atop of another hill. I make my way toward the latter.

I'm not even through the open gates of the property, when the sound of a beat reaches my ears. And the closer I get to the house, the clearer the latest Weird Sisters single sounds, blaring from an open window on the third floor.

"Guess I'm the only one who's expected to show dignity and grace" I mutter to myself, as I climb the front steps and ring the doorbell.

* * *

 _It was the train ride back to school at the start of third year. I had settled into a compartment with Crabbe and Goyle and was eager to have a good laugh with them about all that nonsense of Sirius Black being a ruthless murderer on the loose and after Potter._

 _But I was interrupted by the compartment door sliding open, to show a grinning Pansy Parkinson, who squealed excitedly "I thought it was you!" and pranced into the compartment uninvited, followed by her proclaimed best friends, Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davies._

 _Well, I didn't mind too much, really. Pansy was always an eager listener, and the other two were basically her version of Crabbe and Goyle, so it only meant a bigger audience for me._

 _I impatiently awaited for the commotion of stowing the luggage and rearranging the seats to end. When we were all perfectly settled, with the girls huddled together with their pets and their magazines and what not on the seats across from us, I started on the hilarious subject._

 _Only to be again disrupted by the compartment door sliding open. This time to reveal a pigmy of a girl with long light brown braids and a pair of garish violet spectacles that appeared way too big for her small face._

" _What do you want?" I snapped irritably at the inconvenient little firstie._

 _She didn't even blink. Strutting into the compartment like it had her name on the door, she went straight to Daphne, sitting by the window, and, extending a hand, demanded "Money for the sweets trolley."_

" _What?" said Daphne. Like I said, girl version of Crabbe and Goyle._

" _Money for the sweets trolley." the girl insisted._

" _What about the ten Knuts Mum gave you at the station?" asked Daphne, and it was at that moment that it made sense that they must be related. I supposed there must have been some similarities, but I didn't care enough to observe past one being blonde and the other brunette._

" _I'm saving that for something else." the girl replied with a shrug, her hand still extended expectantly._

" _That's your problem! I'm not giving you mine!"_

 _I confess I was a bit surprised to see Daphne display so much assertiveness. Granted, she was speaking to a miniature of a firstie, but in two years of having her for a classmate, I don't think I'd ever heard her speak enough to even recognise her voice. The most I'd ever heard her doing was giggling at whatever Pansy said._

" _Oh well" the little girl said with a theatrical sigh "Then I guess you should know that that little crystal ball that came with your Teen Witch last month is not too reliable."_

" _The crystal ball showed you she'd give you her money?" Pansy asked scathingly._

" _Oh no" replied the girl, now turning to face all three of them with a cocky little smirk "It showed me what you lot asked it during your sleep over last week." Then recited "Crystal ball, crystal ball, will the boys notice that our boobies are starting to show?"_

 _Daphne, Pansy and Tracey all flushed to the roots of their hairs. I couldn't help sniggering, and of course Crabbe and Goyle followed suit. Pansy took a horrified glance at me and then they all began frenetically fumbling with their robes, as the girl went on "Crystal ball, crystal ball, there's a boy in our…"_

" _Here's eight Sickles!" Pansy screeched, almost at the same time Daphne squeaked "Fine! Fine! Here!" hastily pushing about a dozen silver coins she'd just fished out of her pockets onto the girl's hands, while Tracey almost jumped over Goyle's legs to hand over a few Knuts, whimpering "That's all I have with me, I swear!"_

" _Why, thank you so very much!" the girl cheerfully chirped, pocketing her haul. And with a victorious smile, pranced to the door._

 _Before leaving, however, she turned shrewd, mischievous big blue eyes to me. "Are you Draco Malfoy?"_

 _I heard three sharp intakes of breath._

" _Yeah" I replied lazily._

" _And which one is Blaise Zabini?"_

" _Not here, now get out!" snapped the girls, and with a devious chuckle, the little girl finally slipped out._

" _Is it too much to hope for that she gets Sorted in Hufflepuff and Grandmother pulls her out of the school for shame?" Daphne whined._

 _I snorted. If that girl was a Hufflepuff, then I was Harry Potter's best friend._

* * *

I am ushered by a cross-eyed house-elf down a hall to a drawing room where practically every surface is adorned with either a lacy apron, a jar of flowers, or both. Two women sit as straight as rods on a couple of armchairs, even though one of them looks old enough to have seen the Goblin Rebellions. The woman, I mean, though the armchair also looks about as ancient.

"Mr. Malfoy" she greets, affecting dignity and poise "How delightful to have you here today."

"Mrs. Greengrass" I greet, taking her hand.

"Oh please, Honoria will do. Otherwise there are two of us here." She says with what I'm sure is supposed to be a ladylike titter. "This is my daughter-in-law, Drisella."

The younger woman's slender hand is limp as I take it in mine, just like the smile on her sallow face as she all but murmurs a greeting back.

"Please, take a seat." Says the matron, indicating an ugly puke green sofa to her left.

I wonder if it would be terribly rude to sit on the one opposite instead; I don't much like to have my back to the door. But then standing here hesitating might come off just as rude, so I grit my teeth and sit where I'm told.

"My granddaughters will be coming down in a minute." She primly assures me, and no sooner has she said it than a clicking of heels is heard in the hall outside.

Moments later, a young woman with big blue eyes and long, dirty blonde hair comes in, greets me coyly, and gracefully sits on the sofa across from me.

"Where's your sister?" the oldest woman asks in a deliberately calm voice that does not quite go with the flash of irritation that flits across her eyes.

The sheepish expression on Daphne's face and an additional apologetic half-shrug are the only answer she provides before the house-elf appears with tea and biscuits.

The matron is just ordering it to go check that her other granddaughter is ready, when something in the direction of the door, behind me, causes her breath to hitch and her lip to curl.

I turn around, to see a girl with a sarcastic smirk if I ever saw one standing by the door. In obvious deliberate contrast with everyone else in the room clad in proper fine robes, she's wearing a pair of ripped jeans and a t-shirt. But that's not the most garish feature of her appearance. Nor are the hideous violet spectacles perched on the bridge of her small nose. It is rather her hair, which, last I remember, was long, sleek and a light brown, and is now long, sleek and bright purple.

"What happened to your hair?" the older woman hisses, and I'm somewhat relieved to learn that this is not its regular appearance these days. I don't think I could have stood walking around with someone looking like that.

"A potion exploded" the girl replies with a mock simper, plopping down heavily on the sofa next to her sister.

The matron harrumphs and glares at her for a moment, before catching herself and putting her elegant pose back in place. "Well, you'll remember Mr. Draco Malfoy, a former classmate of Daphne's from Hogwarts…"

Dragging her big blue eyes to me with an unimpressed look, the girl says "Finally left the cave, have you? What's the matter, bat life doesn't make little Malfoys?"

"Astoria Marie!" her grandmother hisses.

"What! Everyone knows that's why we're here!"

Her grandmother seems about to erupt. I put on my best arrogant smirk and say nothing, but there's nothing I can do about the slight flush that I feel creep to my ears.

The old woman shoots the girl a wilting look that promises repercussions later, and quite forcefully says "Astoria, why don't you go play something for us on the piano?"

"Because we're not in the nineteenth century." the girl retorts with a hard look right back, and I know she's not referring simply to playing for the entertainment of the guests.

Grandmother and granddaughter hold each other's fierce gaze for a moment. Then the girl gives in with a sarcastic smile. "Fine." And springs up from the sofa.

There's a bit of strained silence, in which everybody sips their tea and pretends not to notice the stomping footsteps, the brash scraping of the piano stool against the floor and the harsh flipping of pages before a low, haunted melody fills the room.

Then the matron turns to me and begins to make polite conversation, to which I reply curtly, with my mind often wandering wistfully to the seclusion of my bedroom, which has been my refuge for the past two years.

When I decide that this pointless chit-chat has been going long enough and I'm starting to really just want to go back home, I take a deep breath and come out with the words that I'm here to say.

"Lady Honoria, I would like to ask for your granddaughter's hand in marriage."

The two older women grin in delight and, if I'm not mistaken, in relief, as well. The melody from the piano turns into a distinct funeral march.

This is all Mother's fault. She thinks marrying me off with a girl from an upstanding good old wizarding family that hasn't been connected with the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters is the best way to restore our family's good name.

We've all managed to avoid Azkaban on account of Mother's lie to the Dark Lord that probably saved Potter's life and allowed him to win the war. But it's never been the same again.

I don't really care, I would be perfectly content not leaving the manor for the next ten years or so. But Mother insists it's time "to move on" and "make amends with society" and other rubbish.

Apparently, all the donations, all the fund raisers, all the formal declarations of support of the new Ministry and whatever else she's been up to was proving insufficient, so she set me up with the little brat of one of her old school friends. I was surprised to hear Mother even still had friends, I was under the impression everyone was either dead, in Azkaban, or scrupulously avoiding associating with the likes of us.

But I suppose the girl's family must be as desperate to be rid of her as Mother is to see me up and about again. And now that Theo Nott is courting the older sister, I get stuck with the younger, crazy one.

* * *

The sunlight pours through the three floor-to-ceiling windows into my once comfortable bedroom. It's useless to complain about the excessive brightness by this point, Mother says "we're turning a page" and "there is to be no more darkness in this house".

I suppose I should consider myself lucky that at least this wing of the manor was spared of all the flowers and sashes infesting all of the ground floor and gardens.

I check my reflection on the full-sized mirror, smooth down my already sleeked back hair and adjust the goblin-silver cufflinks with the family crest.

This is all for the good of the pure and noble Malfoy name, I remind myself.

And I must remember to place a complaint with Twilfit and Tattings, because my tailor-made dress robes are positively strangling me!

"Stop fumbling with your collar, it'll look rumpled."

Mother just came in, nearly blinding me with all the diamonds refracting the already excessive light in the room. "You look stunning, Mother" I remark with just a hint of sarcasm.

She approaches me for the customary inspection of my appearance and verification of my paleness. When her hand rests on my cheek a little longer than necessary, I know what's coming, so I roll my eyes and pull free before her pale blue eyes start getting all shimmery.

Thankfully, she gets the hint and lets me go with just a quiet "You will do well, Draco." Then turns to leave.

Halting at the door, she remarks, as though in an afterthought, her normal collected tone back in place "Your father wants a word."

* * *

I can't help a pang of envy as I enter Father's study. At least in here curtains and shades are still allowed to fulfil their purpose.

Father is sitting behind his desk with a tumbler of Firewhiskey in front of him. I sit on an armchair facing him and, without asking, he makes a glass pour itself for me. "Are you ready?" he asks rather sternly.

I refrain from shrugging and instead reply with a hollow "Yes, Father".

"The time for little boy's whims is over, Draco, you must take on your responsibilities and do your duty to this family."

My fists clench on the arms of the chair. I haven't been a little boy in a long time. I've taken responsibilities and I have the Mark and the criminal record to prove it. But of course all I say, instead, is "Yes, Father".

"Do you know what to do?"

How stupid does he think I am?

"Tonight. You know the, er, mechanics of the procedures?" he asks, rather sneering.

I can feel the warmth creep to my ears. Must he always think me incompetent in all matters? "Yes, I know."

* * *

She's late. Again. I suppose a little tardiness is traditional, but this is preposterous!

I fight the urge to check my watch again and do my best to remain standing properly straight and collected, but it is made all the harder with the growing general restlessness. The murmuring around the stifling tent is intensifying, the ladies puff and fan themselves with increased vigour, and several exuberantly adorned big pointy hats swivel precariously this way and that.

Her grandmother is trying and failing miserably to maintain a dignified pose, sitting straight as a rod and looking straight ahead with all the air of someone mentally listing the most gruesome hexes she knows. Her mother looks up at me and tries to smile another of her limp smiles. I ignore her and look at my own mother. She's looking as perfectly composed as ever, with only a discreet purse of her lips betraying some degree of annoyance.

I fix her intently, trying to convey how this is all her fault. If the girl doesn't show, it will be perfectly humiliating. And Malfoys don't get humiliated by some girl!

At last music starts playing, and the murmuring stops as everybody turns as one in their seats. But I can't really say if I'm relieved or more uneasy still.

This is all for the good of the pure and noble Malfoy name, I remind myself as I take a deep breath and follow everyone's gaze toward the entrance of the tent.

And there she is.

Okay, I have to admit she actually does look really quite pretty. I reckon a sappier man might even go as far as calling her beautiful.

Then again, I suppose if you looked past those hideous violet spectacles of hers and the perpetual chocolate stains about her person, she was never exactly an eyesore.

But now, in her simple yet elegant white gown that hugs her perky bosom and round hips quite flatteringly, with her hair thankfully its natural light brown and topped with an exquisite goblin silver tiara and a tasteful traditional veil, and her hideous violet spectacles nowhere to be seen, she could've walked right out of the cover of one of Mother's bridal magazines.

Well, except in those magazines the wholesome bridal picture isn't usually topped off with a stony-faced far-off look.

And suddenly I'm pulled out of my momentary witless gawking by the realisation that renewed murmuring is breaking out here and there throughout the tent.

I clench my clammy hands into fists as I feel warmth creep to my ears, before I realise every eye is still trained on her. The unsmiling bride that seems to be taking an exceedingly long time to walk down the length of the aisle. Alone, I notice. There's no fatherly figure walking beside her.

Oh, honestly! Couldn't they have found an uncle or family friend to give her away? I wonder what Father will think of this.

And the murmuring seem to keep intensifying.

I swear if she were coming any slower, she'd be going backwards! God, it's taking everything in me not to snap at that obnoxious brat!

After what feels like an eternity and a half, she finally reaches me. I try to turn my inner scowl into a passable outer smile as I take her hand in mine, but the little brat seems to make a point of looking like she's stepping on burning dragon dung for all to see.

Oh no, if she thinks she can go around in a tantrum embarrassing me in front of everyone, then she's got another thing coming. I squeeze her little hand hard until she winces.

She glares up at me. I glare back down at her.

The minister clears his throat.

We all turn to him, and the little brat can't seem to let go of my hand fast enough.

"Dear friends and family" the balding old minister begins to recite quite loudly, probably to drown out the renewed bout of murmuring. "We are gathered here today to celebrate the joining in holy matrimony of two loving souls…"

There's a quiet snort, and I immediately turn to glower at the little brat, before I realise it's me the minister is frowning at. Good Merlin, Father must be mentally Crucioing me right now!

The old wizard quickly restarts spewing his memorised rubbish, but I can't bring myself to listen to a word he says. My ears are ringing, my robes are strangling me and my skin is practically melting in this bloody stifling tent.

This is it. I'm about to be bonded for the rest of my life with this woman with whom I have never even had a civil conversation.

The sound of my name eventually pulls my attention back to the withered old face of the minister, who's loudly demanding "… take Astoria to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; from this day forward until death does you part?"

I take a deep breath - it's all for the sake of the pure and noble Malfoy name, I remind myself – and open my mouth to reply. But all that comes out is an embarrassingly garbled croak. Oh God! I can feel my ears burning as I clear my throat and try again. "I do."

The minister nods and turns to the little brat. "Do you, Astoria, take Draco to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; from this day forward until death does you part?"

He waits. We all do.

She's not looking at him, or at anyone, really. She's just standing there eerily still with that faraway look on her face as she stares at some point on the wall ahead. It doesn't even seem like she's noticed him at all, and I wonder if she's going to put us through the embarrassment of making him repeat the question.

Or worse, if she's going to say no. I'm not entirely confident she's not crazy enough to do that.

After what seems like a decade, she finally deigns to hollowly mumble an "I do." And I let out a breath I hadn't even noticed I was holding.

As bidden, I turn to face her, she turns to face me. And I just hope Father won't notice how my hand is now shaking, as well as clammy.

"I give you this ring" I say, willing my stupid hands to be steady as I take hers in one and pick up the smallest shiny gold band with the other - wouldn't it be the cherry on top of the cake if I dropped the bloody rings now? - and gingerly slip it on her slender finger "as an eternal symbol of my commitment to you."

It's only as I breathe a sigh of relief at completing the task without giving these vultures reason for more murmuring that my eyes register the faded white writing all over the back of the little brat's hand.

I scowl. Of course it would be right up this little brat's alley to shove some rude message under my nose at this moment. And next second an uncomfortable weight drops into the pit of my stomach, because that's not paint on her hand; these are scars…

But before I can make out the words, she's impatiently pulling her hand out of my grip with a wilting look my way, even as she vows her eternal commitment to me.

Just brilliant.

The old Minister launches into yet another long-winded speech full of pretty, empty words, during which I lose myself in wistful thoughts of my bedroom, cool and dark and empty of resentful brides and scathing murmurs and gawking stares.

"… I now pronounce you husband and wife."

There's nothing for it now, it's official. And now I'm supposed to kiss her.

As I gingerly place my hands on her small waist, my brain kindly decides to remind me how very long it's been since I last kissed a girl. So long that it seems like it was in another life. And, in a way, it was.

Her hands come to rest very lightly on my chest, as though trying to make as little contact as possible. I repress a snort and lean in slowly.

She actually smells really nice. Sweet and enticing, but natural, not like she's drowned herself in some expensive flowery perfume… I realise I'm practically sniffing her inches from her face. God, how ridiculous! Focus, Malfoy, get this over with!

I close the rest of the distance - since she doesn't seem at all inclined to - and kiss her on the lips.

Which are actually quite soft.

For a moment, I fear she isn't even going to respond, the brat. Great, Father will think I don't even know how to kiss a girl!

But then her lips start moving in time with mine, and it isn't so bad, really. It isn't bad at all. Her mouth is warm and inviting, and God, she actually tastes even sweeter than she… Ouch!

Evil brat just sunk her teeth in my bottom lip! I think I taste blood!

I pull away, glaring at her. To find her smirking nastily back at me.

God, this is going to be a long life…

* * *

 **A/N: Here's a brand new story that's been brewing in this head of mine for some time now. Hope you've enjoyed this first chapter; if you could drop me a line and let me know your thoughts, I'd be much obliged :D**

 **Happy reading, everyone!**


	2. 2 - She Loathes You (Yeah Yeah Yeah)

**Chapter 2 - She Loathes You (Yeah Yeah Yeah)**

I let go of the chipped frying pan and successfully drop from the whirlwind of colour onto my feet. A thud and a yelp mere paces behind me tell me that my new little wife didn't have such a graceful landing. But I barely have time to snicker because I'm immediately bulldozed by a plummeting camping bag.

I get to my feet spitting sand and already feeling the bruises forming as I smooth down my robes. "What the hell d'you bring that for?" I say, glaring at her "Hasn't all our luggage been sent ahead?"

"Yeah" she snorts "the luggage that my Grandmother approved."

She's sitting on the ground, hitching up the skirts of her gown and taking off her high-heeled white shoes with a rather sulky expression.

I know the chivalrous thing to do is offer her a hand to help her to her feet, but given that her ratty old camping bag just very nearly broke my spine, I turn my back on her with a sneer and take in my surroundings.

We're on a tropical beach; a crescent shaped strip of snow white sand peppered with palm trees before an immense sheet of crystalline blue water.

Ahead, a set of wooden steps leads up to a vast deck on which I can glimpse a lounge area with a swimming pool. Across it, a blindingly white two-storey villa rises against the vibrant greenery of the background.

"Did you choose this?" I ask.

"Did I choose to be exiled with you to a glorified rock in the middle of the ocean for three weeks?" she shoots back from a few paces behind me. "Yeah, sure, don't you know this whole thing has been about my choices?"

And with that, she stomps past me up the sandy path, toward the wooden steps, with her ratty old bag trailing behind her.

I scowl at the back of her head.

And then I can feel it giving way to a smirk as an idea comes to me. I do a quick jog to catch up with her, and then quickly and without warning haul her up into my arms.

"Hey!" she unsurprisingly protests "What are you doing?!"

"Isn't it some sort of tradition that I carry you inside, or something?"

She huffs but cannot really contest my chivalry.

"Your hand is on my arse!"

I smirk wider "That's alright, you see, what's yours is mine, dear wife!"

She growls.

I give her bum a little teasing squeeze, causing her to glare witheringly at me and attempt to wiggle free. But now we're crossing the deck and just ahead is the wide, illuminated swimming pool.

I drop her unceremoniously inside it with a huge splash.

Then turn my back on her swearing and cross the threshold of a set of wide double French doors into the house, calling for a house-elf to draw me a nice, warm bubble bath.

* * *

 _It was the end of my very first day of O.W.L.s on my fifth year. Some of our class had gathered near the lake after the afternoon's practical Charms in hopes of getting a bit of sunshine in with our studying for next day's exam._

 _But mostly it had turned into getting a bit of sunshine with our books and notes out just to ease the conscience._

 _Zabini had actually dozed off with his copy of Intermediate Transfiguration covering his face from the sun, lying on his back a little up ahead where the gravel ended and the soft grass started. Pansy was using hers to support the magazine she and her friends were giggling over, sitting a few paces away right at the edge of the lake with their feet dangling in the water. And Crabbe and Goyle had abandoned theirs altogether in favour of throwing pebbles at the giant squid._

 _Eventually, I too gave up pretence when the grounds began to fill with the loud excitement of the younger students and sixth years whose classes were done for the day, and sat back watching Crabbe and Goyle's game._

 _It wasn't long until the feel of the sun on my face combined with the sound of the breeze on the leaves of nearby trees and distant laughter had me halfway following Zabini's example. Only to be rudely pulled back to full consciousness by a bit of splashing and a lot of screeching._

 _"Argh, Tori!"_

 _"Careful with my magazine, you dolt!"_

 _"That's freezing!"_

 _I irritably opened one eye and glanced toward the girls. To find them all emphatically wiping themselves and their precious rag and glaring at a soaking wet little pigmy in a polka-dotted bikini sniggering at them from the water._

 _"Well, it smells so much of burnt-out brains around here that I thought you might need some cooling off… Oi!"_

 _She rounded on Crabbe and Goyle, who, having also been distracted by her splashy appearance, now made to resume their target practice. "You do realise that that giant squid has twice as many arms as the two of you together and a whole lake full of big rocks at its disposal, right?"_

 _They lowered the next round of pebbles, frowning back at her. Though I'd bet it had less to do with self-preservation and more with the fact that they couldn't work out what she'd meant and swing their arms at the same time._

 _Seemingly satisfied nonetheless, she turned back to the girls "So how'd the exam go?"_

 _"It's done. We don't wanna talk about it." Sniffed Pansy. But then, huffily turning a page, did anyway. "I mean, what's there to say about such a joke of an exam, really? Half the paper didn't even make sense! And don't even get me started on the senile old loon that examined my practical…"_

 _"Didn't make sense either, I'm sure." The girl slyly cut across her. "But if you don't mind, I was talking to my sister."_

 _Pansy huffed and briskly turned another page. Daphne whined._

 _"It was awful… I mean, the written part wasn't too bad, I think… But the practical… I ended up right next to Hermione Granger… She was doing everything so perfectly…"_

 _"Always has to show off, that one!" sneered Pansy._

 _"... while I kept fumbling and getting blanks… couldn't even think…"_

 _"You think that's bad?" I sneeringly put in, making them all turn to me "Try having Potter the big celebrity himself turning up halfway through your exam! Famous Potter, can't even walk into a room without…"_

 _"… without you getting starstruck, yeah, we all know that."_

 _I glared at the insolent little pigmy, but she just airily went on without pause "Anyway, it was just the first one, I'm sure you'll all do better tomorrow." And then with a wicked little smirk, added "Who knows, maybe some distracting classmates might suddenly come down with a mysterious stomach bug… For a price, of course…"_

 _I sat up at that, but Daphne had to let out a scandalized "Tori!"_

 _"Oh, lighten up, I'm only joking!"_

 _I laid back down with a scoff, while Pansy indignantly huffed "Yeah? Well, it's no joke to us! Besides, tomorrow's Transfiguration; if anything, it's going to be even worse!"_

 _"I reckon Transfiguration is sort of okay..." Tracey mumbled._

 _"No, you don't!" snapped Pansy "McGonagall hates us and wants us all to fail, everyone knows that!"_

 _"She'll get her wish with me... I just know it..." Daphne snivelled._

 _Even Goyle grunted something that sounded a lot like "Me too..." I glanced at him, surprised at his spontaneous intervention. He'd actually dragged his arse nearer to the girls' group._

 _Almost as if he'd predicted what the little girl would say next._

 _"Wow, you lot really are depressing! You know what you need? Homemade Cauldron Cakes." she cheerily piped up, then even started wading ashore, splashing a bit more water to a lot more protesting, as she added "I've actually got some I was saving for a snack later, but you clearly nee..."_

 _"No, of course we don't need Cauldron Cakes!" Pansy snapped across her, to Goyle's obvious disappointment "Summer's coming, you know. We've been staying well clear of sweets for weeks" and with a scathing look up and down the girl's bikini clad body, added "Maybe you should try it too. Merlin knows your waist line would thank you for it."_

 _The little pigmy stopped short, flushing deeply. She glanced to Daphne, who appeared to suddenly find something very interesting about her toes in the water. Then with a snort, she quickly crossed her arms over her chest, stuck her chin up and retorted "Yeah? You've been weeks without sweets, you say? Well, that certainly goes to prove why they say sugar is the food of the brain…"_

 _"And just what is that supposed to mean, then?" snapped Pansy indignantly._

 _"Maybe you'd be able to figure it out if you'd taken me up on that Cauldron Cake. Then again, in your case, maybe not even with twenty."_

 _And on that note, the snarky little pigmy turned to dive back underwater with as much of a splash as she was capable of, and quickly swam away in a practised breaststroke._

* * *

The starry night sky blinks at me through the wide panes of the panoramic window ahead. I find myself mentally tracing the familiar dots and naming the figures that crowd the sky.

It used to make Mother so very happy that I seemed to have inherited the Blacks' taste for astronomy. Now I can't even remember the last time I even bothered to look up at the stars. And even less the last time Mother was very happy.

I shake off these thoughts and turn my attention from the stupid panoramic window to the stupid blank ceiling, as I lounge on this stupid vast bed in this stupid room in this stupid beach villa. God, I wish I was at home!

I think I hear a noise from the corridor outside and snap my eyes to the door.

Nothing.

I take a glance at my watch. Not that I care, but I haven't had a sign of life from my new little wife since I dropped her in the pool, over two hours ago.

If I didn't know for a fact that she is an adept swimmer, I might have thought that she'd drowned.

Then again, that wedding gown surely was not the most practical swimwear. For all I know, all that lace could have hindered her movements and weighed her down. One must not lose hope.

Another half hour goes by, and I find myself stepping out onto the balcony.

I take a glance at the pool down below, but there's no trace of drifting fabric as far as I can see. Well, I didn't really expect there to be, and I suppose it wouldn't do much for the good of the pure and noble Malfoy name to have the newest addition to the family drown on her wedding night, anyway.

No, unfortunately, I think something more sinister is going on. As I wander back onto the bed, I somehow know that this long quiet of hers doesn't forebode anything nice.

So when she finally slithers into the room, silent and devious like the tiny viper that she is, I can't help but to narrow my eyes at her and ask "What have you been up to?"

At once her pouty rosy lips stretch into a smug smirk. "Scared, are you?"

"Hardly" I snort. Whatever she comes up with, I can do ten times worse. But I wish she would just hurry up and get her petty little vengeance over with, so that I can go back to ignoring her.

But she's just standing there in the doorway, her hideous violet spectacles glinting ominously in the dim light. Oh yeah, those are back. And now complemented with an atrocious oversized maroon jumper and a pair of washed-out greyish tracksuit bottoms.

"Surely nothing your Grandmother packed can be more hideous than _that_." I sneer at her "Is that what you've been up to for the past few hours, stealing some homeless person's rags?"

She glares at me, crosses her arms over her chest, and opens her mouth about to retort something. But then shuts it. Then opens it again, but hesitates.

And at last huffs and spits out "Can you believe that in a house with basically a private beach, a magically heated swimming pool, a game room, a wine cellar, dining room _and_ breakfast room, and about half a dozen bathrooms and lavatories, there is only one bloody bedroom?!"

And that's when it all makes sense.

"Oh, I see" I say with a scathing laugh "Thought I was going to try and ravish you, did you?"

Her stance seems to relax but her cheeks flush. Sticking her chin out, she retorts "Well, it's a valid assumption. Unless, of course, there's some fault with your equipment."

The little brat! I can feel my ears burning as I snap "There's nothing wrong with my equipment!"

There can't be! I know it's been a while, a very long while, but…No! Knock it off, Malfoy!

"Well?" demands the little pigmy "What do we do about the sleeping arrangements, then?"

"What about them? They seem quite obvious to me, unless you're worried we won't both fit in the bed, what with your big fat arse."

She scowls. "Actually, I'm more worried with your big, fat head!"

"Yeah? Well, my big fat head is going to stay where it is; your big fat bum can either join me here or it can sleep on the floor. Just choose quickly, because I want to bloody call it a day already!"

Bratty little pigmy that she is, glares and huffs and stomps all the way across the room here to the bed, and then starts to brusquely trying to yank back the covers. A stupidly vain task, that, with me lounging atop of them in the middle of the bed.

After a few tries, she seems to come to that conclusion, too. "Will you bloody move over?!"

I don't, of course.

She snaps impatiently. "I thought you said you were keen to call it a day!"

"I changed my mind." I shrug "I don't fancy sharing a bed with an ill-mannered, fat, ugly brat wearing flee-infested rags."

"Your arse is what's fat, ugly and flea-infested! Now move over!"

I sprawl myself diagonally across the whole bed.

The little pigmy growls. And then without warning, climbs up on the bed and over me, taking care to dig her knee right in my stomach!

"Argh!" I cry, scrambling to sit up and push her off.

"Next time, move ov... Oomph!"

I've pushed her face-first into the mattress.

She rolls over and clambers to her knees, glaring at me as she takes off her glasses and rubs the now red spot on the bridge of her stuck up little nose.

I smirk at her. But not for long, as a pillow promptly strikes me right across the face. "Prat!"

With a growl, I grab the other pillow and strike back at her. "Four-eyes!"

And then again for good measure, but she deflects the blow with one arm, and swings at me with her pillow on the other. "Arsehole!"

"Fat-arse!" I retort, and smack my pillow low across her bum.

She strikes me sideways, spluttering indignantly "Ferret-face!"

With a growl, I place an extra hard blow that collides with one of her own, sending her pillow flying halfway across the room, and her toppling over backwards. But with a snarl of her own, the little brat promptly jumps up and grabs onto my pillow instead, as I swing it at her face again.

"Give it up!" I growl, and tug.

"You give it up!" she growls back, and sinks her little claws harder still until her knuckles are white around the fabric.

That's when, under the pale light from the sconce above the headboard, the faint lines etched across the back of her hand stand out, and I find myself curiously tilting my head and squinting at the upside-down message.

' _I_ (scrawl) _T_ (jagged scrawl) _T E A_ (even more jagged scrawl) _P O_ (jagged unreadable mess)'

Seems an odd sort of way to note down an errand, but before I can have a second look, the little demon's giving the damn pillow another hearty tug that has me nearly losing my balance.

"Hey!" I snap, and retaliate with a brisk yank myself, that causes an ominous ripping sound and a few feathers to actually spill out into the air between us. "This is stupid! What are we, five?"

"Then let go!"

"It's my damned pillow!"

"Oh, but what's yours is mine, husband dearest!" she slyly sneers back.

I glare at the smart-mouthed little pigmy. She sticks her chin up and glares right back.

"Fine!" I say "Then we both let go at the same time!"

"Fine!"

"On three, then! One; two; three."

She lets go. I swipe at her head.

But I miss, because she's already lunging at me, knocking me backwards on the mattress.

"So predictable!" she sneers, panting, as she lands on me; her breath fanning across my lips as she blows a loose strand of hair off of her face.

All of a sudden, I become keenly aware of the feel of her soft, warm little body as she sits astride me, her arms braced on the pillow effectively trapped against my chest. And all other thoughts are at once scattered from my brain, because a miracle is happening here and something long dormant comes raging back to life!

The little vixen's sneer instantly fades, her blue eyes widening instead. "Please tell me that's your wand!"

I smirk then. "Well now, you were so keen to know whether the equipment worked..."

"Urgh!" she scowls, hastily scrambling off of me and as far away as she possibly can without falling off the bed.

Urgh?! Urgh?!

"What, worried you're not up to the job, _wife dear_?" I snap as I scramble, rather ungainly, to stand on my knees "Better work on that, because it _is_ your job to take care of your husband's needs, you know!"

"My job!" she shrilly cries "I'd rather bathe in Bubotuber Pus!"

I know she means it too, by the way her eyes are flashing murderously at me and her face is redder than ever. Well, that makes two of us; I can feel my ears positively burning. And so viciously spit back "You want to break out in excruciating boils, do you? Well, keep up with that insolence and I might just arrange that for you!"

"Is that a threat? Are you seriously threatening me, you bloody arsehole?!"

"No, it's a promise! So listen here, you brat..."

"NO, YOU LISTEN!" she cuts across me, jumping to her feet beside the bed "I'VE JUST BEEN FORCED TO PARADE ALL DAY IN A STRAITJACKET OF A DRESS AND HEELS FROM HELL TO CELEBRATE BEING BASICALLY SOLD AS A BREEDING MARE TO A SELF-IMPORTANT WASHED-UP BULLY..."

"Shut up!" I snap, jumping off of the bed after her.

She steps backward but ploughs on, livid. "NO, YOU SHUT UP! I'M TIRED, I'M PISSED, AND THE LAST THING I WANTED TO FALL ASLEEP TO WAS YOUR STUPID FERRET FACE..."

I don't even remember consciously deciding to, but I grab my wand from the night table as I advance on the insolent little brat. "I said SHUT UP!"

She takes another step back, backing herself against the wall. Then realising this, sticks her chin up, glowering daggers up at me. But doesn't say another word.

Good.

"Now let's get one thing straight" I hiss, towering threateningly right over her "I will not tolerate any more of your tantrums and bratty manners. I realise you're not used to having a man in the house to put you in your place…"

She actually growls at that. That one struck a nerve, like I knew it would. I smirk nastily and go on "... but that's about to change; I don't give a bat's nut if you like it or not, I'm your husband and that means you'll respect me and do as I say…"

"Or what?" she spits back, blue eyes flashing "You'll make me? You'll curse me? You'll Imperio me into a meek, obedient, puppet of a wife?"

Well, now who's going for the low blows?

So of course I have to strike back. "You think I won't?" I viciously sneer "I've been trying to decide which Unforgivable to use first from the moment you said 'I do'!"

I don't even see it coming. Her hand smacks so hard across my face that I stagger back a couple steps, blinking white spots from my vision.

I barely even register the sound of the door slamming shut.

* * *

The purple liquid slushes sluggishly inside its crystal phial as I twirl it restlessly between my fingers. I'm once again lounging on this stupid bed, alternating between staring at the stupid panoramic window, at the stupid door and at the stupid watch.

It's been two hours now since the little demon I'm to call a wife dramatically stormed out of here. I know she's in the house somewhere, I've checked with a Human Presence Revealing Spell. Twice.

Surely, if she was going to run away, she would have done it by now. Right?

We're miles from home, it's really late and dark, and there are all sorts of creatures out there. Surely even she isn't crazy enough to venture out now?

Then again, maybe she hates me so much that the prospect of spending the night wandering the jungle or adrift at sea is more appealing than staying in the same house with me.

Okay, cut it out, Malfoy! Who cares what she thinks! I don't like her either! She can waltz right out into the night and get eaten by, I don't know, a giant flesh-eating jellyfish or something, for all I care. Yeah!

Either way, I reckon it's safe to assume the brat is not coming back in here. At least not to sleep, though I wouldn't put it past her to sneak in here in the middle of the night to pour a cauldron of Bubotuber pus down my head or something!

I exhale harshly and point my wand at the door. " _Colloportus_."

There! She can sleep on a sofa in one of the sitting rooms, for all I care. Hope it gives her a sore back!

And on that note, I finally pull out the stopper on the phial – maybe a little more forcefully than strictly necessary – and down my precious potion.

Then I slump down on the cool, satin sheets, sprawling myself across my stupid marital bed just as blissful, magical oblivion closes down completely on my last conscious thought: Father cannot hear about any of this.

* * *

 **A/N:** So, I'd like to thank you all for the really good feedback on the first chapter, it really warms my heart :D I hope this new one was to your liking, and please feel free to share any thoughts on it, I really appreciate it. I expect the next update will be around the third week of January, so look out for that ;)

To the lovely reader asking about my other story, Greys in Green, I'd like to say first of all a big thank you for your kind words and continued interest in my work :D :D And also, my apologies for the long, unexplained wait.

The thing is, last year my computer had a tragic immediate encounter with a cup of tea, and all my files and notes for that story were lost... I've been trying to summon the willpower and resolve to begin rewriting everything, and I hope to eventually have something good to show ;)


	3. 3 - Crazy Little Thing Called Wife

**Chapter 3 – Crazy Little Thing Called Wife**

I wake up with sunlight searing my eyes. God, there's a reason they invented curtains, and there's a reason I chose mine dark and heavy. Mornings are not supposed to be this bright!

And that's when I remember I'm not in my bedroom at the manor. Stupid panoramic window!

I struggle into a sitting position and recline against the headboard, waiting for the last remnants of sleep to wear off and for the will to get up to arrive. Neither completely do, but I eventually manage to drag myself out of the bed.

My movements are still their usual sluggish as I go through the motions of brushing my teeth and putting on my clothes. Twice I drop my damn toothbrush, and after about an eternity sitting on the toilet waiting for feeling to come to my fingertips, I decide to skip shaving altogether.

It's not like Mother will show up here to nag and fuss over my appearance anyway, and the woman with whom she shipped me off here will hate me no matter how much I smarten myself up.

Just the thought of her brings a scowl to my face. Spiteful, insolent, petulant little brat! With that smart mouth that bites instead of kissing and those big blue eyes that look at me full of hate and resentment…

Whatever, I don't give a damn what she thinks. And next time she's rude to me I'll just put her in her place.

Yeah, I think as I tap my wand on the doorknob, that impromptu dive last night was just a warning, next time I'll really show her…

I cautiously open the door a crack to peer out at the landing. As all seems quiet, I step out of the suite and set out to navigate this stupidly bright house in search of some room with less window (or at least more curtain covering it), where I can hole up and be left well alone.

It's not easy though; I swear this whole stupid villa must double as a greenhouse. Even the bloody stairs are made of glass!

And then there's the stupid white marble floors and even whiter walls, and bloody twinkling decorative waterfalls and endless paintings of sunlit oceans, and apparently stupid panoramic windows in every room.

God! I get it, there's a stupid little beach and a stupid little ocean and a stupid little blue sky out there. But is it too much to ask not to have my eyes seared in every single bloody room of this bloody house?

I'm positively daydreaming of burying this whole stupid villa in Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder when, halfway across the ground floor hallway, I'm startled by a jingling sort of voice.

"Ooh, such a pale complexion, sir! By Merlin, do not be frugal with sunscreen potion!"

I whirl around, fully expecting to find the little pest there sneering at me. But the brightly sunlit hallway is perfectly empty and still.

Well, now that I think of it, it didn't exactly sound like that petulant brat. But who else could it possibly be, certainly no elf would dare address me this way?

"Who said that?" I demand to the seemingly empty air, my fingers having already instinctively delved in the pocket of my robe for my wand. "Show your face!"

Still nobody appears, but the voice sounds again.

"I would, had I a face of my own, sir. But I'll gladly show you your pasty one if you kindly look this way."

Turning to my right, I come face to face with myself, scowling back at me from a wide silver-framed mirror above an intricate white console table.

"Bloody talking mirrors!" I mutter as I turn my back on it and firmly walk away.

And that's when a delicious scent of pumpkin, chocolate and sweeter times wafts teasingly to my nose. A second later, my eyes catch up.

A set of glass-paned doors in the corridor off the stairs are thrown wide open, providing a beckoning view of the sunbathed dining room inside, with the domed lids of half a dozen serving platters glinting on the long oval glass table.

But what really catches my eye, sitting in the place of honour right at the centre of the table, is a magnificence of a pumpkin cake complete with a middle layer of freshly whipped cream and sugared pumpkin chunks, and the thick, creamy chocolate glaze still dribbling down the sides.

A loud rumble has me momentarily thinking of a tropical storming brewing overhead, before I realise the sound actually came from my own stomach. Honestly, I would've thought a tropical storm more likely; given the past few years of Mother practically dragging me to sit at the bloody dinner table and my stomach unfalteringly knotting itself up in response, I didn't think it even still knew the difference between edible food and tree bark.

Yet here it is, rumbling loudly again, while my mouth fills with water and my feet carry me toward this table.

No sooner have I reached my seat than a serving cart eagerly races across the room to present me with a choice of three Superior Red vintages, a crystal pitcher of elf made nettle wine and a dusty bottle of Mulled Mead.

"A bit too early for that kind of stuff, isn't it?" I say somewhat harshly to the cart, thinking of Father and the glass of Firewhisky that these days seems permanently attached to his hand.

Promptly a second shelf I hadn't noticed below extends upward with a variety of jugs of fresh juices.

"Will do." I shrug as I help myself to a glass of pumpkin juice. But my attention is on the splendid treat making my mouth water from the centre of the table.

The dishes seem to have different plans, however, because before I can reach for it, all the lids disappear off the platters at once, revealing stacks of steamed vegetables, piles of somewhat squashed roast potatoes, mounds of buttery peas, heaps of slightly soggy rice, and a rather overcooked roasted duck.

And that's when I notice the dinner sized plate and the meat knife and fork laid out before me. Exactly what time is it, anyway?

But, like a magnet, my eyes are again drawn toward the steaming cake at the centre of the table, and I decide I don't really care. My stomach lets out yet another impatient rumble, and so without further ado I help myself to a generous slice of that mouthwatering delicacy.

I take a first tentative bite, not trusting my stomach to even remember how to keep down food. But then it tastes like heaven on my tongue and it's like I'm seven years old again, munching one slice after another and licking delicious molten chocolate off my fingers, before I catch myself.

God, Malfoy, one would think you've never had cake in your life! I quickly wipe my hand on the napkin, with an instinctive glance around me. Though, of course, no one's here to chastise me.

Still, I push my now thrice empty plate away, lest I'm tempted to pull a Goyle and gobble down the whole cake. Then wash down the scrumptious treat with a sip of the comparatively mediocre pumpkin juice, and get up without another glance at the rest of the food.

I am just stepping out of the corridor that I know now leads to the dining room and kitchen, when the irksome talking mirror across the hallway let's out a giggle.

"Why, sir, when I say you could do with a bit more colour, I don't quite mean it that way!"

That's when I catch sight of my reflection on it. And nearly have a heart attack.

* * *

 _It was an early evening at the beginning of my sixth year. I was impatiently waiting outside the bathroom Crabbe and Goyle had gone into with two doses of the Polyjuice Potion I had swiped earlier in Slughorn's Potions class._

" _Finally!" I snapped when two little first year girls came out, looking perfectly befuddled. I shoved the old music box onto the hands of the sturdiest one "Here. Drop it as loudly as you can if someone shows up in this corridor."_

" _Why do we have to be little girls?" the littlest girl of the two protested._

" _Because I said so! Now keep your eyes open and your mouths shut."_

 _I set off down the corridor, and they nearly had to run to keep up._

 _Reaching the stretch of blank wall in front of the tapestry of the trolls dancing ballet, I began my pacing and my mental request._

 _As the wide doors took shape on the previously empty stone wall, I shot one last warning look in Crabbe's and Goyle's direction and then went inside._

 _It took me a little longer than I would have wished to navigate the corridors between the endless piles of abandoned contraband and recall exactly where I'd planted the broken Cabinet the first night._

 _I had just caught sight of it some yards down the corridor to my left, when a delicious scent of cinnamon wafted from someplace close ahead._

 _I hesitated for a moment. And then took a few slow, quiet steps in its general direction with my wand held at the ready in front of me. Then halted again just before turning the corner at the next corridor, because along with the delicious smell came the sound of quiet, cheerful humming._

 _I groaned inwardly. Somebody else was in the Room. I didn't have time for this!_

 _Carefully, quietly, I chanced a gauging peek around the corner, the incantation "Stupefy" just at the tip of my tongue. And then the sight that met me took me completely aback._

 _Up ahead, an old, rusty wood stove oven was alight with bright blue flames and, next to it, a makeshift counter made of old classroom desks was cluttered with numerous bowls, wooden spoons, measuring cups, egg shells, milk jugs, baking pans in all shapes and sizes and a myriad of other kitchen paraphernalia._

 _In front of it all was a little pigmy with pigtails and hideous violet spectacles, clad in an even more hideous polka-dotted apron, cheerfully stirring something inside one of the bowls._

" _The hell are you doing here?!" I snarled in my most menacing tone, jumping entirely into view with my wand pointed at her._

 _To my satisfaction, she jumped nearly three feet into the air, spattering sticky chocolate on her stupid violet spectacles._

 _Then promptly stuck her chin up in the air as she took them off to wipe, coldly retorting "Not conferring with you, that's for sure."_

 _And then simply resumed stirring as if I wasn't even there._

 _My patience was running thin. I had a Vanishing Cabinet to fix, no idea how, and now this obnoxious creature was here making me lose precious time with her elvish complex! My very wand itched to hex her into the nearest pile of broken furniture._

 _Instead, I jerked it irritably and her bowl flew twenty feet into the air, spattering sticky chocolate all around and smashing with a clatter against a rusted suit of armour._

" _The hell was that for?!" the girl whirled around crying, blue eyes flashing at me._

" _I need the Room, get out!"_

" _You get out! I was here first!"_

 _I swear it was all I could do not to hex her. I strode menacingly toward her, shouting "I don't have time for this, you little wench!"_

 _She took a defiant step forward too, crying back "Neither do I! I'm on a schedule here, you prick!"_

" _You're on a schedule!" I bellowed, now veritably towering over her, with my wand pointed straight at her face "Well, I'm on a bloody deadline!"_

 _The look I saw flit across her eyes at that had me fearing she had caught on to the literal meaning of my words. I glowered menacingly at her._

 _She rolled her eyes, took a gauging look toward the oven, then back to me, and said firmly "Twenty minutes."_

 _I puffed irritably. "No! Get out! Take your stupid, stinky mush to the kitchens, if you want, but get out! Now!"_

" _To the kitchens!" she cried indignantly, sticking her little chin out again, her little hands on her hips "The place is crawling with elves! I can't get two steps in without them trying to practically mouthfeed me, let alone get to the ovens!"_

 _I growled._

" _I'm taking my twenty minutes, Malfoy. It's not like I'm stopping you, go do your thing and I'll do mine."_

 _I snorted. Like I was going to go anywhere near the Cabinet with her in the Room! She'd extort my whole vault clean with just that information and then probably sabotage my work just for the hell of it._

 _And that's when it hit me._

" _Alright, how much?" I asked, lowering my wand. She looked at me like I had just spoken Gobbledegook "What?"_

" _C'mon, Greengrass, you're always snivelling for spare change. How much do you want for clearing out right now?"_

 _She flushed deeply, her eyes flashing, and she spat "I don't want your money!"_

" _Right." I snorted. I reached inside my pocket and took out the velvet pouch with spare gold I always carried with me, just in case for situations like this. "I've got ten Galleons here. If you're a nice little girl, I might find another five later in my dormitory."_

 _She narrowed her eyes at me._

 _Then took a glance at the oven._

 _Then back at me._

 _At last, she crossed her arms over her chest and declared "Ten minutes and you can keep your extra five."_

 _I exhaled irritably. "No. You get out now with ten, or you get out now with your face turned inside out. Now choose." And I raised my wand to her face again._

" _Yeah?" She shot back without even flinching "How about I leave now with your ten and come back with Dumbledore?"_

 _I could feel the fury rippling just beneath my skin as I glared at her. She glared right back._

 _And then a shrill cling issued from a bell on her cluttered desk, startling me. She whirled around, cheerfully piping "Oh, goodie!"_

 _Next second she had a huge, delicious smelling and even more delicious looking apple and cinnamon tart out of the oven, and I found my feet stepping closer before I could stop them._

" _Leave my tart alone!" she snarled._

 _And just because of that comment, I took another step closer._

 _With her free hand, she grabbed a small cloth bag and chucked it through the air at me, missing my cheek by inches and enveloping me in a cloud of powdered chocolate._

" _You…" I choked._

" _I" she said, rudely pushing past me while I coughed and blinked chocolate powder out of my eyes "am leaving. But thanks for the ten Galleons!"_

 _When I managed to open my eyes, I looked down at my hand to find my velvet pouch missing._

 _Outside, there was a raucous clang followed by a jarring string of half disjointed notes._

* * *

"Think this is funny, do you?!" I call out as I turn in a near full circle, looking around from the stairs, to the corridors, to every door around the hallway.

"Why, sir, it certainly is a funny look on you…"

I round back on the impertinent mirror, whipping my wand out "You shut the hell up or I'll smash you to bits!"

"And be cursed with seven years of bad luck, sir?" it cockily retorts.

Gritting my teeth, I turn away from it and throw the nearest set of doors wide open with a rattling bang, revealing a wood panelled wide bathroom with a large sunken hot tub in place of honour, and two whole glass walls looking out onto the crystalline sea. With no one inside.

"Astoria!" I growl as I barge next through a set of double glass-paned doors, and into a vast sitting room in tones of white and gold with yet another blindingly bright panoramic view of the stupid beach outside. But from the plush white reclining sofas to the glass encased fireplace at the corner, there's no sign of her.

"You're going to pay for this, you little demon!" I shout as I charge back out and into the adjoining game room "I look like a bloody Weasley!"

But there's no answer whatsoever. In fact, there's no sign of her anywhere. After searching the whole house, I can't even tell where she might have slept.

I find myself back upstairs at the door to the suite I vacated just over an hour ago, with one last hope that she might have somehow slipped up here for a proper bath or a nap on a proper bed now that I'd left.

And indeed, I reckon I can hear a soft rustling from inside.

I unceremoniously kick the door open, growling "You sneaky, little devil!"

There's a squeal and a small thud, and I look down to find a little house elf sprawled on the floor next to the bed, which for some reason is in the process of being made with all the decorative pillows at the footboard.

It would have been a much more amusing scene, if I wasn't certain that the reason for the creature's fright was my hideous red hair.

I scowl at it as it scrambles to its feet. "Have you seen my wife, elf?"

"N-no, s-sir" it replies, shaking its head so hard that its large ears flap from side to side, slapping its ugly face.

Again, it's almost amusing, only I'm not in the mood for laughing.

"Did you bake that pumpkin cake with chocolate glaze?" I ask, though I'm fairly certain I already know the answer.

The creature's eyes go as wide as saucers and it positively starts trembling. "Oh no…"

"No, what?" I snap.

"No, s-sir, Loopa did not…" it whimpers, and then its voice goes up a few more octaves as it starts twisting the hem of its burlap sack faster and faster while bawling "Loopa forgot, sir! Loopa m-meant to bring M-Master his breakf-fast in b-bed, because M-Master wasn't c-coming down-stairs… But Loopa f-forgot!"

And then without warning, as elves usually do, the stupid creature rushes at the neatest wall and starts banging its ugly bald head on it again and again, while crying "Bad elf! Bad elf! Bad elf!"

"Oi! When did you last see my wife, then?" I ask, nearly having to shout over the racket.

"I. Is. Not. Knowing. Sir." It says, punctuating each word with a hard blow to the wall. "Bad elf! Bad elf! Bad elf!"

I leave it to it and step back out, my mind reeling. How long ago can the little brat have made that cake? I myself haven't seen her since she dramatically stormed out of the bedroom last night, and that elf is obviously not going to be much help.

Why wouldn't she have shown up by now to gloat at her handiwork?

As I climb back down the stairs, I replay in my head her spiteful words from last night, her hatred of me and her disgruntlement at our marriage. And each second I become more certain of my conclusion.

Fervently hoping that I'm wrong, I raise my wand as I reach the middle of the hallway and loudly say " _Homenum Revelio_ ".

I wait a beat. Then another.

Nothing happens but the annoying mirror making another insolent remark about how my new hair colour accents the deathly pallor of my skin.

Oh no.

Oh God, what will Father say?

I've let my wife run away!

Worse, I've let my wife run away _and_ give me Weasley hair! Oh God, what if I can't change it back? How can I show up back at the manor with Weasley hair and no wife?!

I can feel my face beading with sweat as I look helplessly around the stupidly bright hallway, looking for answers that aren't there.

"You know, sir, some lighter clothing would have been more comfortable in this climate…"

I whirl on my feet. "You, talking mirror! Have you seen a girl about this size" I raise my hand level with my chin "with long brown hair, big blue eyes and ugly violet spectacles?"

Great, now I'm seeking assistance from wall ornaments!

"I have not, sir." It says.

"Are you sure?" I urgently insist, because honestly I'm at a loss what else to do.

"I am sure that I haven't seen a girl about that size with long brown hair, big blue eyes and ugly violet spectacles." it replies "But I have seen a girl about that size, with long brown hair, big blue eyes and a pair of sassy violet spectacles that framed her lovely heart-shaped face quite becomingly."

"Oh, for Merlin's sake" I snap "How long ago was that?"

"I'm a mirror, sir, not a clock."

"Well, which way did she go, then?"

"I'm afraid that too is beyond the observation skills I was built with, sir."

"Bloody useless talking mirrors!" I grumble as I turn away and, gritting my teeth, throw open the only set of doors that I haven't tried.

* * *

I shade my eyes with my hand as best as I can, for if I thought there was too much sunlight inside the house, now I'm positively blind with the glare of the snowy white sand and the crystalline sea. And that's not to mention how uncomfortable it is in this suffocating humid heat.

I cross the wide deck, squinting in every direction without knowing what it is exactly that I am looking for. But as I'm reaching the little wooden steps that lead down to the beach, something promising catches my eye.

Just a glimpse of violet at first. I can just make it out on the snowy white sand some fifty yards away to the east.

Grumbling to myself, I climb down the steps and begin to trudge my way over, sinking to my ankles in the soft, hot sand as fine as sugar; a veritable dune pouring into my shoes with every step.

It doesn't take long to verify that the glimpse of violet is in fact a beach towel. A violet beach towel with large white polka dots, and upon which lay a pair of violet spectacles and a battered old book.

 _Dreadful Denizens of the Deep_ , as it turns out. Belonging, according to the scribble inside the cover, to the private collection of Hyperion Greengrass, and bookmarked on the chapter on tropical waters of the Indo-Pacific Region.

"Well then" I say, allowing myself a sigh of relief, as I drop the book back down and look out onto the crystalline blue waters, dazzling in the midday sun. "Hiding away with the fishes, are you?"

As if in response, a sort of a cackle sounds from somewhere behind me. I turn around, but it's only a couple of monkeys chasing each other at the edge of the beach, where the white sand meets the first line of trees.

I face the sea again, shading my eyes with both hands as I skim the shimmering surface. "C'mon, you little devil, even with a Scuba Spell you can't stay underwater forever…" I mutter to the air, while trying to spot perhaps a head bobbing in and out of the water for breaths, or at least a bit of splashing.

And after a couple of minutes or so, I think I do. I think I see a small splash and a glimpse of what could be a pair of human feet. But next second it's gone, and I'm left to stare at that area wondering if it was ever really there and not just a reflection of the light on the water.

Then, a few feet from that spot, another shape peeks out of the surface and all my blood runs cold.

Oh God, no!

The same shape emerges again some feet closer, and there can be no doubt about it this time. It's a shiny, dark, slanting triangular fin!

Oh God, please no!

My heart is practically jumping up my throat as I look wildly around the beach again, hoping that, by some miracle, I've somehow overlooked a devious little pigmy peacefully sunbathing on a distant spot of perfectly dry land.

But the only thing there is to see is a set of footprints – human footprints – leading down to the surf. And none coming out.

I don't realise my feet are moving until I feel the water soaking my socks and shoes and the splashes wetting my robes all the way to my elbows. With one hand shielding my eyes from the blinding brightness and the other hastily lifting my wand, I search the vast expanse of the sea. First around the area where I thought I saw a pair of feet, then wider and wider from side to side.

"Oh God, please don't let her get eaten by a shark! Please, please, don't let her get eaten by a shark!"

I realise I'm mumbling aloud, but I don't really care. All I can think about is how just last night, in a fit of pique, I mused on this very scenario.

Oh God, I didn't mean it! I never wanted her to die, I never really wanted anyone to die! Merlin, I should know by now not to make light of these things!

I keep looking and looking but the only thing I manage to spot a couple times more is that terrible fin breaking the shimmering surface. And, I can't be sure, but I think it's swimming in circles… Don't sharks do that when they're about to attack?

"Oh no, you don't!" I cry, slashing my wand through the air. " _Confringo_!"

A column of steam rises up off the water where my spell hits, missing the telltale fin by some fifteen feet.

Well, all the better, I suppose, so I don't hit the girl by accident. Which I reckon now, I should've thought of before shooting a Blasting Curse.

"Impedimenta!" I cry, with another whip of my wand, bringing about another column of steam wide off the mark.

But at least now the beast, certainly spooked by the spells, has quit the slow circling movements and is sprinting away at a vertiginous speed.

Columns of steam rise out of the water like geysers, one after another as I slash my wand through the air again and again. " _Impedimenta_! _Stupefy_! _Petrificus Totalus_!"

And as the fin disappears deeper into the water and out of sight, in a last ditch effort, I again risk a roaring " _CONFRINGO_!"

One last tower of water and steam blasts into the air with an exploding shower of droplets and a thousand little rainbows.

Then everything goes still and quiet again, the crystalline blue waters shimmering serenely in the sunlight as if great murderous fish were nothing but a thing of myth.

Panting and sweating and sodden to my knees, I keep my eyes glued on the spot where the fin disappeared, my wand at the ready in my hand.

A second goes by.

Then another.

And another.

As I go to call out, a figure bursts through the surface. My wand is up with a curse at the tip of my tongue, when I make it out as a mermaid.

A mermaid?!

I squint my eyes against the blinding glare.

A mermaid that is swimming this way at a vertiginous speed.

A mermaid with a familiar long mane of brown hair whipping in the wind.

A mermaid that is not a mermaid at all, but a girl with fins and a protruding dark snout over fearsomely sharp teeth. Which, even as I watch, are morphing back into familiar features while she advances, wand flicking and waving through the air.

Then all of a sudden, the water line starts frothing and receding.

"What the…" I sputter, blinking in astonishment as the sand gets sucked from under my feet, severely crippling my balance. That's when a great shadow grows over me, accompanied by a roar of rushing water.

I look up.

And find a wall of water cresting some ten feet into the air. It seems to hang there suspended for a breathless moment. Then crashes down, knocking me off my feet, sweeping me into the churning torrent, to finally discard me on the sand, like a piece of damn driftwood!

It takes me a moment to shakily pull myself into a sitting position, coughing out sand and salty water and taking in big, gasping gulps of air. Then, blinking and squinting through the haze of the burning saltiness, I manage to open my eyes and raise them back to the shimmering water.

From where comes a vision of glistening sun-kissed skin and a long curtain of hair glinting in tones of bronze, as a figure rises from the twinkling surface, gilded in the sunlight like a sea goddess coming ashore in all her splendour and grace.

"THE HELL WERE YOU SHOOTING CURSES AT ME FOR, YOU PSYCHO?!"

Well, that effectively shakes me out of my brain fart.

The figure advancing toward me is certainly not a goddess – Merlin, my brain must've been deprived of oxygen for longer than I thought! – rather a little devil in a bluish one-piece bathing suit that she must've have nicked from the very back of her grandmother's wardrobe.

Her blue eyes blaze as she glowers at me, her breathing ragged as if she's just run a mile – or swam, more like – and her scarred knuckles are white around the handle of her wand as she holds it practically level with my face.

At once I become aware of the emptiness in my own hand, my wand having been ripped out of my grip when I was swallowed up by that massive wave. I need to look for it before it gets taken by the sea or gets buried in the sand, but I don't dare take my eyes off the crazed, armed she-demon in front of me.

The nerve of her, after I probably saved her life!

"You know" I snap, getting to my feet. Rather ungracefully, I might add, what with the sodden clothes caked with sand. The little brat raises her wand to accompany my movement, which only irritates me more. "I never thought much of your manners, but this 'thank you' hits an alltime low!"

"THANK YOU!" she practically bursts my eardrums shouting "YOU TRIED TO BLOW ME TO BITS!"

"I was trying to hit the shark!"

To keep it from attacking you, I add in my head, but hell if I'm saying that aloud! She hates me. I'm not giving her the satisfaction of knowing that I give a damn whether she lives or dies.

"IT WAS ME!"

"IT WAS THE SHARK, YOU STUBBORN, PARANOID MULE!" I finally explode "WHY THE HELL WOULD I TRY TO BLOW YOU TO BITS?! AS INSUFFERABLE AS YOU ARE, YOU'RE NOT WORTH THE LIFE SENTENCE IN AZKABAN!"

"OH, HOW COMFORTING TO KNOW! YOU DIM-WITTED ARSE, THERE WAS NO SHARK! IT WAS ME!"

And then her meaning sinks in. Oh God!

A feeling of horror starts rising like bile in my throat. "You… you were the shark?!"

She crosses her arms over her chest then, wand and all. Her breathing starts evening a bit, though she's still glaring daggers at me.

"No." She impatiently spits. "I was a witch blending in with the ecosystem."

"What! That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard!" I snap.

God, I'm married to a completely brainless lunatic! Who's going to get me arrested!

"The idea was to fool potential wild predators!" she snaps back "What's stupid is nasty curses apparently being your answer for everything!"

"As opposed to tantrums and sulking and sabotaging people's food, I suppose!"

She glances at my defiled hair and snickers nastily.

"It's not funny, you brat! I want my hair fixed!"

"Yeah? And I wanted a nice, relaxing swim without some psycho ginger shooting curses at me. Guess we can't always get what we want."

And with one last impertinent sneer, she turns and dives back into the water.

* * *

I'm still fuming by the time I step out of the shower. In fact, my fuming has actually redoubled at the discovery that _all_ my hair is now a lurid, flaming red. _All of it_!

As I towel myself off, I swear I'm mentally replacing that little devil's face onto every illustration of every book of curses and hexes I can remember. I'm at the Blasting Curse when a bit of an uneasy feeling twists in my stomach.

But I'm pretty sure it's just disgust at my hideous hair, so vividly red that I can make it out even in the fogged up mirror.

Or because of all the salty water and sand and seaweeds and Merlin knows what else I swallowed while getting whirled and tossed in that massive wave that I'm now positive was that demon's doing as well.

After I tried to save her!

 _By nearly blowing her to bits_ , a voice at the back of my head reminds me, and there goes that twist in my stomach again. But that's beside the point! It was her own fault for swimming around posing as a shark, the absurd brat!

I wrench open the bathroom door, step out into the bedroom and cross to the walk-in closet on the other side of the room.

It is as I go to get some underclothes from my trunk that my attention falls on the other trunk sitting there beside it. Which just so happens to be unlocked.

And not only that but, as a cursory look around quickly reveals, a certain ratty old camping bag too is to be found emptied and tucked away on a shelf with a bunch of spare beach towels.

 _Almost as if a Confunded house-elf has been in here tidying up_. Oh, the irony!

I can feel the smirk stretching on my face as I reach for the nearest drawer. And then the next. And the next.

Obviously, I don't know how much stuff was in the bag to begin with, or what that stuff was. All I know is that empty is what it certainly wasn't when it fell on me when we arrived. But when I find a drawer with a couple granny swimsuits, I reckon I'm on the right track.

And sure enough, in the next drawer, cradled among a stack of cringe-worthy polka-dotted knickers, I find a small drawstring pouch. Unfortunately, it's made of mokeskin, and I consider a couple of fingers too high a price to pay for a more accurate estimation, but judging by the weight and the jingling sound it makes in my hand, I'd say it must hold the profits of years of extortions and trickery.

I put the pouch back – it's already mine too, anyway – and continue my search.

There's not that much to find. The rest of the drawers and shelves on her side are mostly empty save for a few t-shirts, a pair of ripped worn-out jeans, a scarf with the Irish colours from the Quidditch World Cup like a million years ago, and her ghastly homeless person's getup from last night. Then there's the trunk with the stuff her Grandmother sent ahead, which could probably pass for finery, if one squints really hard and ignores all the ruffles and frills.

It's quite pathetic, really.

And just when I thought this little exploration couldn't get any more deplorable, I come upon a few books propped up on the shoe racks, beside some dirty old trainers and the white high-heels from the wedding.

One's a well-used copy of _Enchantment in Baking._ I can't help but let out a snort.

Another is a crappy paperback, _Hairy Snout, Human Heart_.

An image of Greyback's yellowed, pointy teeth dripping with blood comes to mind and I quickly put the stupid book back with a shudder.

Then there's a book I've never heard of, called _Pride and Prejudice_. It's got a handwritten note on the first page that reads:

 _This is a classic._

 _Give it a try, I'm sure you'll find something you can relate to. At the very least, the title._

 _Only joking!_

 _Sort of._

 _Anyway,_

 _Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year._

 _Ass.: Naveen R. Balaji_

Ugh, a muggle romance novel, as I realise after flipping through it a bit. I put it back.

And then the last book is not a book at all, but a regular old orange notebook. With a lock.

Well now, what's this? Her diary, perhaps?

But before I can do much more than pick it up, I hear some kind of racket coming from the stairs. And suddenly I become aware that I'm still just in my towel.

I quickly turn back to my own trunk and, in a moment's decision as I go to pull my clothes out, throw the orange notebook inside. Then get dressed, close the lid and carefully secure the catch.

I'm about to open the door and step back out into the bedroom, when a thought gives me pause. This seems too precious an opportunity to simply leave it at that, after all that little demon has done.

I hang on a moment, listening carefully. I can hear a muffled sort of thumping out on the landing accompanied by some squeaks that sound a lot like "Bad elf! Bad elf! Bad elf!"

Reckon I might still have about a couple minutes, then.

I smirk. Two minutes might just be enough.

* * *

I'm just coming out of the dining room after dinner, when I hear the front doors opening and closing.

Finally!

Soft footsteps cross the hallway, and the jingling voice of the mirror exclaims "Oh my, those split ends! The sun can be terribly damaging to the hair, Miss, you must apply a generous dose of moisturiser and repair pomade! Stat!"

"Thanks, I'll get right to it." the little devil's voice dryly replies.

Nice to know I'm not the only one getting criticised by wall ornaments.

I pick up my pace down the corridor. Turning the corner, I arrive at the hallway ("Why, that hair colour, sir! With your pallor and your tall, lean frame, you positively resemble a matchstick!") just as, upstairs, the bedroom door clicks shut.

I rush to the stairs, but God, it's like she brought the beach into the house! The floor is slippery with water and sand grains that crunch under my soles with every step!

By the time I make it to the bedroom, I can hear the shower running in the adjoining bathroom.

And then it's nearly half an hour before she comes back out, trailing in a cloud of thick steam that practically doubles the already stifling humidity in the room.

"Took you long enough!" I snap, getting up off of the bed.

She startles, her hand flying to clutch the top of her towel. And that's when my eyes take in the sight of her, pink-cheeked, peach skin glistening wetly, and clad in nothing but that piece of cloth that barely reaches her mid-thighs…

And now I'm thinking of the feel of that soft little body on top of me and the taste of her mouth on mine, and suddenly all my blood seems to be rushing south and turning into Swelling Solution.

"Didn't realise there was a timer ticking." the brat insolently retorts. "And my eyes are up here!"

I snap my eyes away from the tops of her perky breasts, just visible above the top of the towel, and quickly arrange my features into a menacing scowl. Thank Merlin for robes, to cover other things not so easy to rearrange. She hates me. Hell if I want her to know the effect she has on my body!

"Fix…" I have to clear my suddenly parched throat. "Fix my damn hair!"

 _Preferably before you get to the closet_ , I add in my head.

But it's no good, she's already heading that way.

"You mean a great tough shark slayer wannabe like you can't fix his own hair?"

I scowl at the back of her head. I would if I knew what the hell she used to turn it red in the first place!

"You defiled it, you fix it!" I snap "Right now!"

But she simply disappears into the walk-in closet, sniggering as she shuts the doors behind her.

Well, she doesn't get to snigger for long. Not even fifteen seconds go by before I hear "What the hell?!"

 _Yeah, who's sniggering now, you little vixen_ , I think as I sit back and lounge on the vast bed, to the satisfying sound of a string of oaths and expletives as doors and drawers creak and thud and bang open and shut with increasing force.

Then the doors to the closet burst open with a rattling bang, and out comes a seething little devil, her hand clutching the towel the way she probably wants to my neck.

Glaring at me, she throws down on the bed a purple Weird Sisters t-shirt so small it would be hard-pressed to fit a house-elf.

"You've ruined all of my clothes!"

I raise my eyebrow at her. "It's not my fault you've got so fat you can't fit into any of your… er… you'd call that 'clothes'?"

She picks the t-shirt back up, balls it up and flings it furiously at me. It's a mark of how crappy my reflexes have become that I don't even manage to catch it before it lands on my face.

"They won't fit because you shrunk them, you prat!"

I irritably pull the rag off of me and fling it back at her.

"Then certainly such a clever, crafty witch like yourself can put them back right!"

No, she can't. I've made sure that, whatever spell she tries, her rags will only grow smaller. Which, guessing by the curl of her lip as she sticks her chin up and crosses her arms over her chest, she's already found out from experience.

Still, stubborn little thing that she is, she turns on her heel and goes back into the closet.

I can hear her opening and slamming doors and drawers again, cussing and growling in between repeatedly crying " _Engorgio_!" or " _Reparo!_ " or " _Finite!"_ , and see her precious rags jumping through the air with each flash of light, like popcorns in a pan. Except instead of growing, they keep shrinking and shrinking.

I've got to give it to her though, she's perseverant. It's over twenty minutes before she finally admits defeat and comes back out, clutching her towel tightly like it's all she has left in the world.

I almost feel sorry for her. Almost.

"Well, what am I supposed to wear now, huh?!" she brusquely demands "Did you think of that, you big git?"

I lock my fingers behind my head, and stare right at her.

"Here's how it's gonna be, _wife dear_." I say "You're going to start addressing me respectfully. You're going to put my hair back to its natural colour. And you're going to quit acting like a petulant brat."

"And then" I firmly press on, as she seems about to interrupt "when I'm satisfied that you're behaving accordingly to your position… _Then_ I'll consider buying you a whole new, proper wardrobe."

She practically erupts. "You… You vile, condescending, arrogant prick!"

"Keep that up and you won't have even that towel left!"

Her fists clench so tightly around said towel, her knuckles turn white. If it weren't for that, I'd probably have her wand pointed straight between my eyes right now. Merlin knows hers are all but spitting fire.

"Screw you, Malfoy!" she spits.

"Yeah, that's your job, too. _Malfoy_!" I shoot back after her, but she's already dashing out the door, and all I get in response is the sound of her feet stomping down the stairs.

Well, looks like I'll be getting the whole bed to myself again tonight. At least this time I'm sure she isn't going to run away. Not in her birthday suit.

Proud of this unplanned benefit of my clever revenge, I lock the door behind her and retrieve my crystal phial from the drawer of the night table.

I don't even care that the last rays of sunlight have just barely sunk in the horizon. What with all the running around the house looking for that devious brat, I'm tired to the bones. And that's not to mention the headache coming on, from all the damn sunlight and the little devil's shouting.

Then I remember that this is probably what's in store for me for the rest of this accursed marriage. As I take a hearty swig of the bubbling purple liquid and crawl into bed, I make a mental note to stock up on the stuff. In fact, I better make arrangements for a lifelong supply. I'm going to need it for this bloody lifelong nightmare I'm stuck with.


	4. 4 - PS I Disgrace You

**Chapter 4 – P.S. I Disgrace You**

I awake with sunlight searing my eyes. God, whoever decided that white gauzy fabric made for acceptable curtains deserves to be hit with a Conjunctivitis Curse!

Slowly, laboriously, I haul myself up until I'm propped against the headboard in a semi-seated position, and try to rub my heavy eyes. My numb fingers manage to stick into my nose instead.

Ugh, I hate this part!

When at last my senses start to become functional and my brain is able to register anything besides the blinding whiteness, my eyes fall on the trey sitting on the night table beside me. It's laden with a huge pile of eggs and bacon, a generous stack of toasts, bowls of fruit and yogurt and cereal, and a nearly overflowing coffee pot.

But my stomach, which only yesterday decided to come out of its long hibernation so fiercely, now gives but a half-hearted stir. Foolish, fickle stomach!

I start to pour myself a cup of coffee, but then I catch sight of the red nightmare that is my hair reflected on the silver teaspoon, and it occurs to me that just because there's no treacherously scrumptious cake does not mean the meal is safe.

"Elf!" I call out.

One, two, three seconds. Nobody shows up.

"Elf!"

Oh, what the hell was that creature's name, again? Something like…

"Boopy!"

No, that's not it.

"Boogie?"

No. But I'm pretty sure it started with a B…

"Booty? Booza? Whatever you're called! ELF!"

There's a loud crack, and suddenly what looks like a ratted burlap sack with flappy ears is curled in a deep bow on the floor beside the bed.

"Master called Loopa, sir?"

L. Close enough.

I point to the trey with the teaspoon. "Who prepared this food, elf?"

Itself, it assures me. So, after I've ascertained that no devious little brats have been anywhere near my breakfast, and had the elf have a taste of everything just to be extra sure, I finally down my cup of coffee and get up off the bed.

"Is… is M-Master not wanting more b-breakfast, s-sir?" squeaks the creature in a wobbly sort of voice, wringing the hem of its burlap sack.

"No, you can take it away." I say with a wave of my hand, and turn to go into the bathroom.

"Is M-Master wanting his l-lunch, then?"

"No, I don't want any damn food! God!"

And then a sudden keen wail like somebody hit with a Cruciatus has me startled half to death.

"Oooooh, M-Master is not l-liking his f-food! Loopa's c-cooking is no g-good!"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake!" I snap, as my heart slowly gets back down from my throat "Don't you ever scream like that again, you brainless creature!"

"Yes, s-sir…" it says in a much quieter whimper. I turn to go into the bathroom, as it goes to get the trey.

"B-brainless indeed… Loopa forgets Master's b-breakfast one day, then d-drops b-bucket down the stairs, then l-loses Miss Tori's p-prized p-possessions…"

I halt in my tracks.

"… then m-makes Master b-bad b-brea…"

"What did you say?" I ask, turning back around.

The stupid creature starts shaking so bad it drops the trey with a crash. Coffee spills onto the carpet, chunks of slippery fruit and greasy eggs, bacon and toast scattering on the floor.

"No, quiet!" I order, as the elf opens its mouth to start whimpering again.

It kneels on the floor, right on top of the shattered porcelain shards that used to be a coffeepot, and starts picking up the mess, tears dripping down its ugly potato-shaped nose. But thankfully quiet.

"Now, don't bawl, just answer my question." I say.

It sniffles "Loopa s-says… says I is a b-brainless elf, s-sir…"

"No, that's what I said, you just agreed. I meant, when you were listing your interminable blunders…"

The elf lowers its bald head so low, its nose could be vacuuming the coffee on the floor. Then starts banging hard against it, face first.

"Bad elf! Bad elf! Bad elf!"

"Oh stop it, will you!" I impatiently snap.

It stops.

"God!" I grumble, rubbing my temples. The elf's the one banging its head, but I swear I'm the one getting a headache with this damn conversation.

"Now tell me what you meant about misplacing the br… my wife's prized possessions. And no banging! Or whimpering!"

It resumes wringing the hem of its burlap sack, as it looks up at me with wide, watery eyes.

"Loopa tidied up Miss Tori's things yesterday, sir…" It says, then gulps and starts to wring the hem of the sack faster and faster, its voice going up an octave with every word. "Loopa d-didn't do a good job… Miss Tori was s-seeing Loopa in the kitchen this morning… asked about a n-notebook… v-very i-important, Miss Tori says… And L-Loopa… L-Loopa i-isn't knowing w-where I has p-put it, sir!" it finishes with a wail.

And then its eyes go as wide as saucers, it slaps its hands over its mouth and restarts chanting "Bad elf! Bad elf! Bad elf!" in a muffled whisper while positively shaking with the effort not to bang its head.

But it doesn't matter, I already heard what I wanted.

"Alright, off you go, then. No, leave that" I add impatiently, when the elf makes to restart picking up the mess from the floor "You can clean that up after I've washed up and dressed. Just go now!"

And as it bows down low and pops out, I'm already crossing the room toward the walk-in closet.

So the little devil's been asking about her missing little notebook, has she? Thinking – or perhaps hoping – that it simply got misplaced during the elf's absurd tidying up.

Reaching my trunk, I quickly insert the code onto the lock and pull open the lid. Inside, thrown haphazardly among a stack of socks, lies a battered old orange notebook with a little pumpkin-shaped lock.

"Well, well, well" I mutter under my breath as I pick it up and give the little lock a close look "What are you guarding that's got the little demon so worried?"

* * *

I've come to the conclusion that the least blindingly bright room in this whole stupid house – after the small lavatory down the hall, which is not exactly a proper place to lounge about and while away the hours – is the game room.

It's still got a stupidly wide window, unfortunately. But at least it looks out onto a line of palm trees, and the gauzy curtains are a much more acceptable deep green to match the top of the card table, which do filter the sunlight somewhat.

So here I am, wand in hand and the little notebook lying on the card table before me.

Tapping the tip to the stupid little pumpkin-shaped lock, I mutter " _Alohomora_ ".

The lock twitches but doesn't open. I try again.

" _Alohomora_."

Again, the stupid thing twitches, but doesn't budge.

"Eh, ginger!" comes a little voice from somewhere on the other side of the room. I sigh irritably. "C'mon, how about a quick game now, eh?"

"Yeah!" promptly follows another voice "Let's smash the teeth off their horses!"

"Make their bishops pray for mercy!"

I follow the ensuing ruckus of threats and war cries to the chess table beside the window, where the little crystal chessmen are in an uproar, hopping restlessly in their squares and brandishing their swords and spears.

"For the last time, nobody's playing anything!" I snap "Now be still and quiet!"

They freeze back into lifeless crystal statuettes, though I know it won't last long. I'd hardly stepped into the room, they were already practically leaping off the chessboard trying to rope me into a game.

I turn back to the little notebook, considering my options.

Then I tap the tip of my wand to the little lock again and try " _Reducto_."

With a flash of blue light, the little notebook is blasted into the air, sending loosed scraps of paper fluttering to the floor all around, as it lands sprawled open and face-down on the tabletop, a curl of smoke issuing from the charred bits of what used to be a little pumpkin-shaped lock.

And thus the little devil's secrets are thrown open for my perusal.

Curiously, I pick up a slightly stained paper napkin and a tightly folded up piece of parchment that landed on my chair, and sit down.

On one side of the napkin, as it turns out, is an autograph of Myron Wagtail, from the Weird Sisters, dated from the Yule Ball on my fourth year at Hogwarts.

I snort. Big deal; back home, I've got a quaffle signed by the Puddlemere United's entire team from the season they achieved their twentieth victory in the League, given to me by the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports himself.

Back when high-ranked Ministry officials used to come round the manor for Sunday card games and dinner every other night, instead of in official raids every few months following some ridiculous 'anonymous tip' or another…

 _Whatever_ , I think with a scoff as I put the stupid napkin aside. If this stupid scribble turns out to be the little brat's supposed 'prized possession', I'm going to be very disappointed.

I almost push aside the folded piece of parchment as well, but just for the hell of it, I want to know exactly how pathetic her autograph collection is. So I go on and unfold it.

Instead of a signature, however, I find a hand-drawn map of Diagon Alley.

One complete with a rude anatomical sketch over the figure of Gringotts Bank, and a few circles marking spots like Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour and a little teahouse that I know for a fact won't do much for her gluttony, since they've been closed since the War.

So far, nothing worth a lock. Even a crappy pumpkin-shaped one.

I turn my attention to the notebook.

Picking it up and turning it over, I come upon a slightly grease-smudged, but otherwise blank first page.

And second.

And third.

I flip through the whole book, from cover to cover and, other than a few stains and chocolate smudges, every page appears perfectly blank.

Right.

Turning back to the beginning, I raise my wand again and tap it on the page.

" _Apparecium_!"

As I predicted, at once lines of small curly handwriting start to fade into the parchment from the tip of the wand outwards, forming words, filling the page with what looks like bullet-point notes scribbled and scratched out and corrected a few times over.

At last, a coloured title at the top of the page reads:

 _Tippy's Not So Secret (and not so teeth-breaking) Gingerbread Biscuits Recipe_

A recipe? How disappointing!

No secret confessions of sneaky little tricks and misdeeds that might give me some leverage against her, no embarrassing childhood stories and girly drama to tease her with, no nothing I'd expect a silly little girl to passionately pour into her secret little diary.

Just a plain ingredient list and detailed preparation method for some stupid biscuits, unless one counts the little note to self that reads ' _teach elf to not be so damn humble and to just take the credit! My ears are still ringing!_ '

I skim another page.

 _Firewhiskey Sponge Cake_

 _(a.k.a. how to make Grandmother smile and giggle like a schoolgirl)_

Though the parentheses is crossed out and corrected below with ' _NOT when she finds out who baked it!_ '

After that is:

 _Dad's Old Favourite Chocolate Fudge Cake_

With the caption _'PROHIBITED! Mum's crying, Grandmother's screaming, and I'm wishing to just bloody go to Hogwarts already!_ '

And then:

 _Mini Friendmaker Tarts for Mean Tarts_

 _(Provided the Carrow sisters never find out there's no such thing as fat-free buttermilk cream)_

To which was added below:

 _TOO LATE!_

 _Who knew the castle provided a secret room especially for hiding! There's even an old oven here! Also a creepy stuffed troll and a sort of tiara that I'm pretty sure whispers every now and then, but let's not be picky…_

And a few more pages after that:

 _Super-Sized Sweet Buns_

 _(a.k.a. the super-sized bully briber. Still to be tested on ferrets, though)_

I snap the stupid cookbook shut with a sneer then.

Well, I can see why she'd want to keep her precious little cookbook a secret. It is undeniably embarrassing that she spends her free-time experimenting in the kitchen like a house-elf, and I'm certainly putting an end to such nonsense as soon as I see her next.

"Hey mate, how about that game now?" a stupid knight calls out, brandishing its sword.

I ignore it, as my eyes fall on a flattened roll of parchment with a purple ribbon that looks a lot like the stupid little invitations Zabini used to get from Slughorn. I unfold it with a scowl, which only deepens as indeed it turns out to be a stupid invitation to the stupid Slug Club, dated from last March.

What the hell does the little insolent devil have so special that old Slug would want her in his pseudo elite club?

Then again, he was already half senile when Dumbledore brought him out of retirement and back to teaching, most of his precious chosen had less than nothing special about them.

I push it aside with another sneer and pick up the remaining couple of slightly creased and worn folded up parchments. One turns out to be her Hogwarts acceptance letter; the other one reads:

 _My dearest Pumpkin,_

 _I don't have words to tell you how happy I was to receive your letter._

 _No, of course I haven't forgotten you. Not a single day goes by that I don't think of you and miss you so dearly._

 _Believe me, it is my deepest wish to see you again too, my darling. And we will. We will be together again, Pumpkin, and be a family. I promise you._

 _Until then, keep me in your heart and in your thoughts._

What the hell?!

I re-read the letter. And then again. The only thing that changes is my fury getting deeper.

'My dearest'?!

'My darling'?!

'We will be a family'?!

Who the hell wants to make a family with my wife?!

In my outrage, I've apparently spoken out loud, because the stupid chessmen promptly butt in "Who's trying to take your Queen?!"

"Send in the Knights!"

"Move in the Rooks!"

I ignore them and scan the letter yet again.

"Take their swords and cut their heads with them!"

It's not even signed! Outrageous little brat that she is, I'll bet it's from some muggleborn or some riffraff of the like!

Oh, the shame of it all! My wife, a blood-traitor adulteress with an elvish complex! If Father ever knew…

"Trample their army, break up their ranks!"

Yes, yes… Break them up… Shove the stupid letter under her nose and demand she write back and end the whole thing!

But then I don't even know his name; little devil that she is could probably address it to a fake one and I wouldn't know the difference!

No, I'd better keep an eye on her post and shred his letters so she'll think he's stopped writing and forgotten all about her…

But then, what if whoever it is figures it out and shows up at the manor looking for her, or something?

No, it has to be done quietly, so no word of this will ever come out…

Oh God, what would Father do?

Lock her in the house, track him down and then… Well, okay, maybe not that. But I could, I don't know, Obliviate her out of his mind or something…

Yeah, that's what I'll do. As soon as we get home, I'm finding that piece of filth and make sure he gets his claws off of what is mine!

First, though, I have to figure out who the piece of filth is.

Sighing harshly, I glare at the stupid orange notebook and pull it open again. It stands to reason that somewhere in here there's a page titled something like 'Stupid Little Heartshaped Biscuits for my Secret Lover Scum', preferably with a name in big, corny, glittering letters adorned with big, corny, glittering hearts and maybe even a picture of his stupid, filthy face.

* * *

 _It was a spring evening in my fifth year, shortly after Dumbledore vanished from the school following my discovery of his precious Dumbledore's Army. The Weasley twins had been wreaking havoc throughout the school, emboldening other students to go the same way, and the teachers were doing less than nothing to stop them._

 _So it fell on me, as a member and leader of the new Headmistress's Inquisitorial Squad, the duty to catch and punish wrongdoers._

 _I was patrolling the corridors with Crabbe and Goyle, when I heard a bit of commotion coming from the room at the foot of the Owlery tower that Professor Umbridge had made Headquarters of the Squad, and where we stored the post waiting for inspection._

 _I silently motioned for Crabbe and Goyle to go in ahead and positioned myself with my wand at the ready as they pushed the door open and peered inside._

 _At once, there was a flash of light and they were knocked back into me, sending the three of us toppling to the floor. And as I, protesting loudly, struggled to free myself from underneath them, someone shot out of the room and down the corridor._

" _Impedimenta!" I promptly shouted._

 _A thud and a yelp confirmed that my jinx hit the target, so I pulled myself up and smoothed down my robes before walking slowly to the heap of robes sprawled a few feet ahead. An envelope and a pair of broken violet spectacles lay on the floor a little away._

" _Well, well, well." I said, and a couple of goofy chuckles approaching behind me told me that Crabbe and Goyle had managed to get up._

 _A pair of bright blue eyes narrowed at me as the small girl struggled in vain against my well-placed jinx, trying to get to her feet. In a moment though, she seemed to recognise the pointlessness of the effort and instead resigned to a sitting position. And to try to hex me back, apparently, but I was too fast and Disarmed her almost effortlessly._

" _Now, little Greengrass, is that the way to treat authority figures?"_

 _Floor-bound, wandless and outnumbered, she still stuck her chin out at me and snorted. "Delusional pricks, you mean?"_

" _Manners, Greengrass."_

" _Or what?" she sneered defiantly "You'll take points from your own House?"_

" _Yeah, five for your rudeness, another five for trying to hex me, five for breaking into the Squad's Headquarters and five for stealing post." And then I glanced at Crabbe and Goyle, standing as usual on either side of me, and added with a smirk "And ten to each of you for assisting me in catching her."_

 _They actually looked very proud of themselves, as though they'd really earned something. Back to her, I said "And don't forget I can also hand out punishments."_

 _"Yeah? Get in line behind Filch; he's still trying to come up with something to top off detention with Snape every weekend until the end of term, the lifelong ban on Hogsmeade visits from Umbridge, and house arrest throughout the entirety of school holidays from my Grandmother."_

 _For a moment, I did consider the challenge of coming up with something extra nasty, just to wipe that smug look off of her little face. But then decided it simply wasn't worth the bother, and merely went on to curiously pick up_ _the envelope that lay on the floor a few paces away. She tensed then_ _, and that was all the encouragement I needed to open it and retrieve the letter inside._

 _That's when she surprised me by flailing her legs wildly, attempting to kick me in the shins while crying "Give that here! You have no right to read other people's mail! Give me that, Malfoy, or I swear…"_

 _I Silenced her. Honestly, she was lucky I'm a gentleman or I would've kicked her right back! Crabbe and Goyle actually looked at me for permission to do so, but instead, I just smirked at her floor-bound figure vainly thrashing and glaring at me, and set about reading aloud the letter she'd gone to such trouble to retrieve._

" _Dear Pumpkin" it read. I looked at her already about to burst out laughing "Dear Pumpkin?! Seriously?" Crabbe and Goyle dutifully chuckled. The look on her face was priceless, she seemed about to cry. I continued loudly._

" _Thank you for the cake and pastries you sent last, they were delicious as always. If you could send a few more next time would be great, because these boys here eat like starving wolves."_

 _I looked back at her again and I'm sure I couldn't keep the judgement out of my tone even if I wanted to as I asked "What, are you running some sort of charity food delivery or something?" She didn't answer, of course, and kept her face rudely turned away from me. For a moment I considered calling her out on it, but then decided to just keep reading._

" _They can't wait to meet you, by the way. And darling, don't worry because it won't be long now. Things are changing, you know, some don't want to see it but they are, and soon everyone will be where they belong. Much love."_

 _I let my eyes skim through the last part again before looking back at her questioningly. She, however, kept determinedly not facing me, so I was forced to come closer. And she must have noticed how every trace of mockery had vanished from my voice as I said quietly "It's not signed. Who is this from, Greengrass?"_

 _I chanced a look at Crabbe and Goyle for a hint of understanding, but of course their expressions were as blank as the signature line on the letter. They had probably stopped listening after the words 'cake and pastries' anyway, the idiots._

 _I removed the spells but the girl still didn't answer, so I insisted "Things are changing? What does that mean?"_

 _And that's when she snapped her head back to me and hissed, "Like you don't know exactly what it means!", confirming my first thought._

 _You see, most people, with the Ministry at the front and foremost, were convinced that Potter was a lying attention-seeker (which he was, of course, most of the time). But a very select few of us had our information from sources far more reliable than either Potter or the Ministry on the matter of the events in that graveyard at the end of the Triwizard Tournament, and what had since then been set in motion right under the stupid Ministry's noses._

 _In that moment, for the first time, this absurd, obnoxious little pigmy of a girl didn't seem so absurd and obnoxious after all._

 _Just in that one moment though, because she immediately went and proved me wrong by getting to her feet and stupidly trying to snatch her letter and wand back._

 _Unfortunately for her, I had the reflexes of a Seeker, so all she managed to do was tear the parchment in half and get taken to the Headmistress's office. And disgusting little thing that she was, swallowed the evidence of her illegal correspondence on the way before I could stop her._

* * *

I sit at the dinner table rapping my knuckles on the shiny glass tabletop as I glare at the empty seat across from me.

The lasagna is growing cold on the platter before me but I make no move to help myself.

"Elf!" I call out after another glance at my watch. "ELF!"

Oh, what the hell was that stupid thing's name again?

"Cooka! Boopa! Poopa!"

It's nearly a full minute before the stupid creature pops up in a crouch at the foot of the table.

"M-Master c-called Loopa, sir?"

"Obviously I did!" I snap. "Where the hell is my wife? Go call her for dinner!"

"But M-Master, sir…" it stutters instead of doing as bid, starting to twist the hem of its burlap sack. "I is already t-taken Miss Tori h-her d-dinner, sir…"

"You did what?!" I snarl.

The stupid thing actually cowers with a whimper and begins to twists its hem faster and faster. "M-Miss T-Tori's o-orders, sir! Loopa is to b-bring Miss Tori's d-dinners to the b-beach, sir!"

"That's preposterous! And you've been in bloody cahoots with her, keeping this from me, have you, you sorry excuse for a servant?! What else have you been helping her hide from me, huh?! You better start talking, elf, or else..." I don't realise I've got to my feet and advanced on the quivering mess of a creature that I'm inches away from stepping on, until the sound of the front door opening and shutting redirects my attentions.

"Why miss, that swimsuit again?!" remarks the tinkling voice of the mirror in the hallway "It covers all too much skin; don't you mind your tan lines?!"

I whirl on my feet, very nearly squashing the stupid elf, which just barely manages to pop out of the way with a little yelp, and I growl "Astoria! A word, now!"

For a moment there, I think she's simply going to go on up and ignore me, and I'm already halfway around the table to go bloody pull her by her ears if I have to. But then I hear footsteps coming down the corridor, so I halt, fuming, with my glare fixed on the doorway. Through which the little pigmy saunters a moment later, in her ugly grandma swimsuit and flip-flops, trailing sand all over the place.

Nonchalantly leaning against the doorframe, she shoots me on of her mocking smirks and chirps "Cock-a-doodle-doo."

"What?!" I snap.

"You asked – no, you hollered – for a word; well, that's the one that comes to mind: cock-a-doodle-doo. You even have a nice red crest to go with it." She adds, nodding smugly to my poor, defiled, hair.

I swear I'm sorely tempted to throttle her.

"Think you're so funny, do you, you insolent brat?! Here's another word for you: propriety! You might want to look it up, because the concept is obviously foreign to you! What the hell is this I hear about you having dinner on the beach?! Are you completely incapable of acting like a normal person and sitting properly at the dinner table?!"

"Okay, first, who pissed in your Cheeri Owls today? Second, I'm not going to take lectures in propriety from a prick who sleeps till tea time and ransacks a lady's personal effects…"

I can't help but snort loudly, because from what I found out today, she's as far from a lady as a Dementor from a unicorn.

"… And third, seeing as I have no other clothes left, I take it that in this little tantrum of yours my swimsuit makes for perfectly suitable attire for _sitting properly at the dinner table_ , does it?!"

She makes a valid point, not that I'm about to tell her that. I blatantly look her up and down, taking in the piece in question, which, atrocious as it is, to my mounting vexation, doesn't quite detract from the nice curves she's apparently trying to hide underneath it. Clearly, for the eyes of her secret lover scum only.

I can feel my whole face contorting in a deep scowl. "God, no!" I viciously spit "That very sight's so revolting, it'd ruin anyone's appetite."

"Funny, those are my exact thoughts concerning your face! Well now, if that was all…"

"No, that bloody hell was not all! Don't you turn your back on me!" I positively thunder "You're to sit at the damn table for dinner, I don't care if you have to come in your bloody birthday suit!"

The little brat whirls back around, but hell if I let her utter another sound!

"Also I don't want you baking anymore! Or cooking! In fact, I don't want you in the kitchen at all; you're not a bloody house-elf! And you're certainly not to disappear again whenever you feel like it, for however long you feel like it, doing Merlin knows what! You're to inform me of your whereabouts… No, actually, you're to ask my permission…"

"Oh, simply _ask_ your permission?" the accursed demon sneers across me "Are you certain you wouldn't prefer a written form, submitted 24 hours in advance?"

"Don't you be insolent!"

"Don't you be absurd!"

"Absurd! ABSURD! ABSURD IS YOUR DAMN BEHAVIOUR! ABSURD IS YOU DEFYING ME AND EMBARRASSING ME EVERY STEP OF THE WAY! ABSURD IS YOU BLOODY SLEEPING WI..." I positively have to bite my tongue at this point, before I give myself away, and quickly cover "… WHEREVER THE HELL YOU'VE BEEN SLEEPING THESE PAST TWO NIGHTS! FOR MERLIN'S SAKE, YOU'RE A MARRIED WOMAN; HAVE SOME DECENCY AND STOP SLEEPING ANYWHERE BUT IN OUR DAMNED MARRIAGE BED!"

The blood is positively thundering in my ears as I glower down at my wayward pigmy of a wife. Who in turn is frowning back at me like I'm the one with a few screws loose. _Me_! Then goes and sticks that impertinent little chin up and says "Okay."

"DON'T YOU FUCKING TEST ME, ASTORIA..." I instantly growl, before my synapses catch up with my ears. Wait, what?

I can't help but to narrow my eyes at her. "'Okay'?"

She rolls her eyes. "What? That bed is the epitome of comfy, and I have as much right to it as you do."

"So you'll sleep in it from now on? In our bedroom, upstairs?"

"Ye-es."she says slowly, as though I'm particularly dense.

I would call her out on her insolence, but I'm momentarily dumbfounded by the fact that little miss rebellious just agreed to my instructions. Reckon I'm finally starting to get the upper hand around here! Might as well make the most of it.

Towering over her, I step closer, putting my menacing glare back on. "Good. Now, be a good, proper little wife..."

"... and go take a shower while my husband dear finishes his meal, so that I don't scatter a dune all over the nice sheets, come bed time? Brilliant idea."

Actually, I was going to order her to sit down at the table while I ate, but considering the puddle she's currently making on the floor, her suggestion is probably more practical. Not that I'm about to admit that aloud. And anyway, she's already heading to the door, so I simply make a point to call loudly as she leaves "You see, I'm not an unreasonable husband!"

Then I turn back to the lasagna that by now must be ice cold sitting on its platter, and take the stupid little orange notebook back out of my pocket. Reckon I can scour it one last more while the little brat takes her shower.

* * *

As I climb up the stairs and cross the corridor toward the bedroom, I'm about ready to flush the brat's notebook down the toilet. I've examined the stupid thing cover to cover over a dozen times now. Reckon I've learned more about chocolate and frostings in the past few hours than a house-elf can learn in a lifetime. Unfortunately, there isn't any mention of heart-shaped biscuits nor their intended recipient anywhere.

Cunning little strumpet is quite careful with her precious scum lover's identity.

So, I've compiled a list of everyone mentioned at any point in the stupid book, and tried to narrow down the possibilities from there.

So far, I think it's safe to exclude:

\- Tippy, the house-elf;

\- Mrs. Norris, the caretaker's cat – yes, Filch's cat gets its own 'Tuna Tartlets Trap';

\- The Carrow sisters – not because I haven't considered that she might play for the other team, but because, from what I gather, those two would sooner send her cursed mail than a love letter;

\- The super-sized bullies, who I can only assume are Crabbe and Goyle, and the 'ferret' that is most certainly not a reference to anyone I can think of;

\- Professor Slughorn – who gets a Pineapple Cream Pie recipe invented specifically for him with Bolandi's Exquisite Crystallised Pineapple as special ingredient, which I suppose explains the invitation into the Slug Club;

\- And anyone in her family.

Which is, basically, the whole list, so I'm still nowhere close to figuring out who the prick is!

All is silent as I cross the corridor and approach the bedroom door. Maybe the little demon's already asleep. Maybe she's dreaming of her secret lover and in her unconsciousness longingly mumbling his name, sparing me the trouble.

God, I can't believe I'm actually hoping that the woman I've married is thinking of some filthy muggleborn prick as she lies in our marriage bed!

Scowling, I strain my ears for any sounds from within, as I close the last couple feet to the bedroom door. Only to be suddenly and inexplicably thrown up into the air and crash to the floor gracelessly on my bum.

What the hell?!

And that's when I notice the thin glittering golden line gouged into the floor in a semi-circle just in front of the bedroom door.

You've got to be kidding me!

* * *

 **A/N:** Well, here's the new chapter. Hope you enjoyed :) Thank you for your lovely reviews so far :D Your feedback is very helpful, so please feel free to continue sharing your thoughts.

Happy reads ;)


	5. 5 - Rob Me Like You Do

**Chapter 5 – Rob Me Like You Do**

I awake to a blindingly white and golden brightness. And to the sound of something big hissing and slithering ominously around the room.

My heartbeat skyrockets, and I desperately try to reach for... some thing or another... and try to call out for... I don't know what exactly... But it's like both my brain and my body are wading through a swamp!

"Master Malfoy, sir!" comes a screeching sort of voice from somewhere nearby, and I'm pretty sure my ears just started bleeding.

Then a pair of huge eyes and an ugly potato-shaped nose show up right in my face. "Is Loopa waking M-Master Malfoy, sir?"

Oh, a house-elf! Right! I remember now, I'm at the beach villa, sleeping on a damn sofa in the damn living room, thanks to my devil of a wife.

"Loopa thought to bring Master Malfoy his trunk, sir, I isn't meaning to make n-noise and w-wake yous, sir! Oooh, Loopa c-can't d-do anything r-right!"

And then it only doubles the racket, when it throws itself out of sight and starts making thumping sounds while crying "Bad elf! Bad elf! Bad elf!"

I'm desperately trying to find my vocal chords through the numbness just so I can tell this vile creature to shut the hell up.

But since my current predicament doesn't allow me to communicate my wishes through anything more comprehensible than mumbling, the stupid elf finally stops the thumping, only to stick its now bloody, as well as ugly, potato-shaped nose right in my face again.

"Whad? Is M-Master M-Malfoy deeding adything, sir? Loopa c-can't uderstand whad yous is s-saying, sir! Why isn' M-Master m-moving?! And now M-Master's eyes are r-r-rolling! Oh, Loopa is g-gedding w-worried indeed, sir!"

Oh great, now the elf is actually sobbing! And what the hell is its ugly face doing coming so close?! Oh hell no! It better not be planning on trying any of that mouth-to-mouth resuscitation rubbish!

I hiss and growl and put all of my force of will into bringing my arm up to push the stupid thing away. I manage to smack my own eye.

"Oooooh, M-Master is s-sick in the head indeed! M-Master is h-hitting himself! Ooooh oooooh"

With a herculean effort, and an equivalent grunt, I manage to raise myself onto shaky elbows. And I'm just about to tell the bloody creature to go drown its insufferable bawling in the pool, when another voice sounds from the direction of the door.

"What's going on?"

Just what I needed! The evil little pigmy to come laugh at my torment!

Like this isn't all her fault! If she hadn't barricaded the bedroom, I would now be going through my daily grappling for consciousness in peace and quiet! I glare at her to convey just that. Through the back of the sofa. Because the rest of my body below my chest is still in Slumberland.

"Miss Tori!" the stupid elf wails "M-Master is s-sick in the h-head!"

"Well, that's not exactly today's news, Loopa." The little devil sniggers, then comes into sight around the end of the sofa, and sweet mother of Merlin, what is she wearing?!

I mean, I know what she's wearing, obviously I recognise one of my own black high-collared shirts. But what on Merlin's name is it doing on her body and… Oh look at that, my lower body just woke up!

I'm so busy staring at _my shirt_ on _her body_ , and seriously pondering taking it back (slowly, with my teeth) that I only vaguely register that she's speaking to me. "Huh?"

"See?" promptly screeches the elf. Oh right, it was still there.

I shake off my stupor the best I can and pull myself properly up. (Hope they don't notice me wobbling on my legs) "Shut up, you stupid creature! I'm perfectly fine!"

I am. Even if my voice sounds hoarse and I'm dragging my words like I've been clubbed around the head by a troll.

"Clearly." The little demon snorts.

And then comes right up to me, in all her messy top bun, violet spectacles, stolen shirt and bare legs glory.

"Er, that's my shirt." I hear myself lamely point out.

Just great!

And what the hell, aren't my vocal chords supposed to be fully awake by now? Why does my voice keep getting hoarser?

"Really? I did wonder when I found this in that pile of laundered clothes if maybe Loopa was doing some side work for an eighty year old gravedigger."

I glare down at her. "Yeah? Well, who told you that you could wear it?"

She narrows her eyes at me for a moment, then mocks "Oh, but _what's yours is mine_ , you see, _husband dear_."

"Well, I want it back!"

And I deliberately start fingering the buttons on her shirt – _my shirt_ , on _her body_ – but she slaps my hand away and demands "What're you on?"

I let my fingers trail right back – it is _my_ shirt – and glare at her some more. "What do you mean 'what am I on?'"

I don't like her tone nor the way she's pursing her little lips at me like she's my mother or something.

Without answering me but without taking her eyes off me either, she asks in turn "Loopa, has he been taking any potion or powder?"

"That's none of your business!" I snap, but the traitorous elf promptly answers "M-Master was asking Loopa to g-get phial along with p-pyjamas from bedroom last n-night, Miss Tori."

I glower at it, and it immediately cowers behind my trunk, which is now sitting in the middle of the room. Meanwhile the nosy little vixen is already lifting the wand I hadn't even noticed she was holding, and firmly saying "Accio Draco's phial."

At once the little crystal phial with my precious liquid sleep zooms from under the sofa straight into her hand.

She shows it to the elf "This the one?"

The traitorous creature raises its head from behind the trunk and gives a shaky nod. I snarl at it, but it instantly scampers back behind the trunk with a whimper, and then the little devil lets it off the hook with a dismissive "Loopa, leave."

As soon as the elf pops out, she rounds on me "How long have you been taking this?"

"That's none of your bloody business!"

"How long, Malfoy?"

Bossy little thing, with that would-be stern little frown and her hands on her hips! I'd like to put my hands on those hips… Under my shirt… God, is she even wearing anything under my shirt?

There's an impatient little huff and then she snaps "Either you start talking, or I'm walking out!"

"Please do." I sneer down at her.

"Fine." She says, sticking her chin up. "Rita Skeeter's been asking me for tea and a chat since the engagement announcement… You won't mind that I take your little phial to show her what you've been doping yourself with, do you?"

The nerve of her!

"What! That's not even true! You can't do that!"

"Can't I?"

The worst part is that not only am I certain she can, I believe she actually would.

"You've got no clothes!" I scathingly remind her "You're not going anywhere with no clothes!"

"If you're so sure that would stop me…" She airily says, turning to walk to the door "The Daily Prophet's headquarters are still in Diagon Alley, yes?"

Why, that sly, devious little blackmailer!

Exhaling harshly, I sourly grumble "Every night for two and a half years, give it or take…"

"What!" she whirls back around, her big blue eyes going so wide that if it wasn't for her spectacles, her eyeballs might pop out of their sockets.

"Are you deaf, as well as shortsighted?" I sneer.

"No, I'm not deaf, I just can't believe you really are that stupid!"

I glower at her, but she doesn't give me a chance to call her out on her disrespectful manners.

"Didn't you learn the first thing about Potions at school? They're meant to be used sparingly, in specific circumstances! And ones that work on the mind, especially, are not meant for prolonged use! You know what, this actually explains a lot!"

Great, first the elf blubbering, now the wife nagging!

I roll my eyes at her. "It's just a Sleeping Potion, Astoria, not exactly Moonseed Poison."

"Oh, I know what it is." She says, planting her fists on her hips again, glaring sternly up at me. "I also know that it can become addictive, and in excess can make you lethargic, easily fatigued…"

I bet she's just making that up, I don't remember Snape or Slughorn mentioning any of that.

"… temporary muscle paralysis, mess with your memory, your concentration, and a bunch of other cognitive and physiological functions…"

Then again, Snape's classes were the only ones I could get away with teasing Potter and even see him get told off for it, so I might have missed a few things; and by the time Slughorn came around, his lessons were the last thing on my mind.

But I haven't experienced any of those effects, anyway. Have I? No, I would have noticed if I had.

So I just scoff and sneer back at her "Don't tell me that between poisoning cakes and posing as a shark, you try your hand at being a Healer."

She crosses her arms over her chest tightly. "You've met my mother, haven't you?"

"Yes…" I say, failing to see where this is coming from now, and wishing she'll just go away so I can finally sit back down.

"What did you think of her?"

I rack my brain for a moment, before I recall a vague image of a sallow-faced woman with a limp smile sitting beside her grandmother at the wedding.

"Er…"

What can I say? One does not simply call one's mother-in-law 'limp' and 'lifeless'. Out loud, at least.

But apparently my lack of eloquence is answer enough.

"Exactly." Says the little pigmy with a slight purse of her lips. "And you've met her on good days, she's been clean for six months. We're hoping for a new record. The current one is eight months and three weeks."

I stare back at her mutely for a moment, trying to wrap my head around what she's saying. I'm sure I don't know what she means with this, and I'm even surer that I don't want to know.

"Yeah, well, I'm not your mother! And you're certainly not mine, so quit nagging and give me my damn potion." I snap at last, and extend my hand for the phial.

She shakes her head disapprovingly, but then gives in with a shrug. "Well, it's your life, it's your right to cowardly sleep it away, if you want."

And without warning, she throws the phial in a tight arc through the air at me.

I wasn't ready for it.

My fingers are still numb, my arms too heavy.

And the phial smashes on the floor at my feet in an explosion of crystal and purple liquid.

NO!

No! No! No!

What has she done?!

"Hmm" says the evil little pest, completely unrepentant "And to think you used to be the second best Seeker in the school…"

And with that, she turns on her heel and heads out of the room.

* * *

 _It was an early winter evening in my fourth year. The events of the first task of the Triwizard Tournament seemed to be the main topic on everyone's minds in the entire school. In the Slytherin Common Room, I was lounging on one of the high-backed armchairs near the fire and entertaining my usual eager audience with a hilarious parody of Potter pirouetting like a ballerina on his precious Firebolt, trying to avoid the dragon's fire-breaths._

 _To my annoyance though, only Crabbe and Goyle and a couple of younger students showed a decent reaction. The girls were rather disrespectfully whispering amongst themselves and only now and again taking odd glances my way._

" _Well, do you have something more interesting to say, then?" I eventually snapped, when my punchline about Firebolts catching fire was ruined as Pansy and Daphne both began rather frantically elbowing Tracey, who flushed crimson, and a silly little scuffle ensued with them all hissing at each other. All because some bloke had just passed by and supposedly smiled toward them._

" _Sorry, Draco" Pansy said while the other two buried their faces in their hands in a pathetic fit of giggles "It's just that Neal has been smiling at Trace a lot, and we're sure he's about to ask her to the Yule Ball any time now."_

 _Tracey shot her a mortified look, flushing even more crimson if possible. But I don't think Pansy noticed, because she was looking at me rather expectantly, as though she thought I would accept that as reason enough to ruin my punchline or something._

 _And just when I was about to salvage what was left of my joke, there was another interruption. This time in the form of a little pigmy with long brown braids and violet spectacles. She swept between our seats in that bouncy manner of hers and halted in front of Daphne, extending in her hand a small fancy gift box with the announcement "From Blaise Zabini." And then with a self-satisfied grin, she added "You're welcome."_

 _Daphne had gone perfectly quiet, and seemed to even be holding her breath, as her hands took the box as though it were a relic made of fine crystal. Her two friends were eyeing it avidly and rather enviously, as well. At least until she opened it._

" _It's empty!" Pansy exclaimed, while the three of them pawed around inside, perfectly bewildered. The girl smirked mischievously at them. "Well, he only said to give her the_ box _."_

 _The three girls glared up at the little pigmy._

 _She simply said "So, it seems Grandma conveniently forgot to send me my dress robes. But I understand that, between the three of you, you've got about a dozen to choose from. I rather like those purple ones with the silver fastenings."_

" _Yeah? What do you want them for? It's not like you're going to the ball!" Pansy retorted scathingly._

" _The greatest band of the last decades comes to the school and I'm not going. Sure, that's likely!"_

" _You're not old enough!" Daphne pointed out, before her eyes widened rather comically and she whispered, as though afraid saying the words aloud would make them true "Was that… why you were in the Durmstrang ship when Professor Snape caught you? Were you…? Has one of the Durmstrang boys…?"_

" _Oh, don't be silly, Daph!" snapped Pansy "What boy would want to take a twelve-year-old to a ball?"_

" _A few more than those who'd want to take fourteen year-old-girls, apparently" the girl retorted without missing a beat "But don't worry, I've been telling them this twelve-year-old is already taken by me, myself and your purple gown with silver fastenings."_

 _And with that cocky smirk upon her face, she turned to leave, leaving the other three debating which was more dispensable, the purple robes or the contents of Zabini's box._

 _As she passed between mine and Crabbe's and Goyle's seats though, she paused to ask us "Who are you taking to the ball?"_

 _The girls' debate came to an abrupt stop, but apparently a decision had been reached, because Pansy immediately squealed "Fine, whatever, take the gown!"_

 _Smiling victoriously, the girl produced from inside her robes and handed over to them a little spray of flowers of some sort with a couple ribbons and a bracelet attached. Then she turned away without even waiting for mine or Crabbe's and Goyle's answers to her question. Which, I had to admit, had been a valid one._

 _I glanced in the direction of the sofa where Pansy was looking at her two cronies dissolve into a fit of giggles and squeals as though she'd just swallowed a Bertie Bott's vinegar-flavoured bean without even knowing how._

" _So, I suppose you'd like to go to the ball."_

* * *

The sun is starting to lower on the rosy sky outside, its rays coming slanted through the gauzy green curtains of the game room, where I sit at the card table gazing unseeingly out the window.

The little demon's secret diary/recipe book lays open before me, still utterly unhelpful and useless. By this point, I only bother to take it out and leaf through just so I can tell myself I'm still investigating, when the truth is I have no clue how to go about figuring out whoever it is that wrote the stupid love letter she had tucked so preciously inside it.

I take a glance at the clock on the wall above the chess table, then turn back to the stupid window. Where there's still nothing to see but my own impatient scowl staring back at me.

At least my hair is back to its natural platinum blond. Or, as the insolent talking mirror pointed out the second I stepped into the hallway this morning and repeatedly reiterated through the whole two minutes it took me to browse the cards on the console, my "overlong locks are back to matching the washed out palette of my complexion".

I swear I'm going to take down that stupid mirror before this stupid honeymoon is over!

A knock followed by the door inching open bring me back from my thoughts. And forces me to hastily grab the notebook off the table and shove it under my robes as an ugly potato-shaped nose pokes into the room.

"Master Malfoy, sir…"

"Did I say you could come in?" I snap, quickly rearranging my robes to better conceal the lurid orange thing.

The elf's eyes go wide as saucers on its stupid face and it whimpers "N-no, s-sir…"

Then backs out, closes the door, and knocks again. This time, I'm guessing by the heavy thumps, with its head, while crying "Bad elf! Bad elf! Bad elf!"

"Alright, enough! What?"

It stops thumping. But then starts shouting through the door "L-Loopa is c-coming to tell…"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, you can come in now!"

Slowly, the door inches open again and the elf steps in, twisting the hem of its burlap sack. "L-Loopa is c-coming to tell M-Master that d-dinner is s-served, sir…"

"Oh. Anything else?" I ask "Anything arrived for me?"

It shakes its bald head in that way it has that makes its ears flap and slap its face.

"N-no, sir. Loopa is checking the s-sky every t-ten m-minutes."

"Well, keep checking, and tell me the second something arrives." I say, and wave it away.

"W-what about d-dinner, sir?"

I puff irritably. "What about it? I'll get there when I want to! God!"

It whimpers a wobbly "Y-yes, s-sir…" and promptly scurries back out.

Tucking the little notebook tighter under my robes, I get to my feet with one last glance out the window.

"Waiting for post?"

I whip around on my feet. To find the little shirt-thieving adulteress smirking smugly at me from the doorway.

"It wouldn't by any chance be a phial-shaped package from one…" she lifts said package up to her bespectacled face and theatrically scrunches her eyes to read " _Professor Luwalhati, number one Potioneer, Seer and Snake-Charmer in all the Islands, Isles and Islets of the Indo-Pacific_ , would it?"

I can feel warmth creep to my ears.

I know it's got 'money-grubbing fraud' all over it, but what choice did I have? I need Sleeping Potion, and the card was on the console in the hallway, with a bunch of other cards of wizarding services in the region…

Well, it's her fault, for spilling the perfectly reliable potion I'd brought from home!

"Give me that!" I snap, and without waiting for her to comply, I lunge for it.

But the little brat nimbly sidesteps me and enters further into the room. "Careful there, this one smashes as easily as the other…"

"Ooooh!" chorus the obnoxious little chess pieces.

"Shut up!" I snap at them, and then turn back to glower at the little she-demon. "What do you want?"

"You mean besides world peace, a cure for lycanthropy and not being married to an idiot doping himself with Sleeping Potion?" she quips, taking a suspiciously keen look around the room. Her bespectacled eyes come to rest on the chess table, where the silent but restless chess pieces are tenaciously vying for attention. "How about a game? You can play me for your precious fix."

You'd think she's just announced Christmas had come earlier, the way the chess pieces go mad!

"A game! A game! We've got a game!"

"Ready your swords, mount your horses, the lady wants a battle!"

"Lovely lady, blacks or whites?"

"Nobody's playing anything!" I snap over their insufferable racket "It's my damn package, I don't need to play for it!"

Unsurprisingly, the bloody chessmen are as vocal about their disappointment as they are about their excitement. Hell, I didn't even know armless crystal rooks were capable of rude gestures!

"Give the lady a game! What kind of a man refuses his lady a game?"

"A coward one, for sure!"

"No wonder someone else has so easily captured your Quee…"

"QUIET!" I explode, effectively shutting up the blabbering chessmen for the time being. It won't last long, though, so I better get the little brat out of hearing range before they start running their mouths again.

"Look" I say to her, nonchalantly stepping out of the room and holding the door for her "Dinner's served, so why don't we take this to the dining room? You can blackmail and eat at the same time, can't you?"

Insolent little brat that she is, perkily retorts "I could, but I've already eaten, thanks."

I glare at her. "Did you now? Didn't I tell you that you were to start eating dinner with me at the damn table?"

She rudely snorts and takes another sweeping look around, before stepping up to me - careful to keep my package angled in line of sight, but just out of easy reach.

"Here's the thing" she says, watching me closely "When you went through my stuff and despicably ruined all my clothes, did you do anything with … hum… well, anything else?"

I discreetly feel for the lump of her precious secret little notebook under my robes.

"Why? Anything else got 'despicably ruined', did it?"

She frowns. "No… But something is missing and I can't find it anywhere."

This is my chance. Do I show her the notebook? Do I confront her about the letter?

But if I open the game, what guarantee do I have that she'll tell me the truth? She's already guarding the rest of her things like a dog. The notebook and the few loose scraps she kept in it are the only things I have to go on, and if she gets her mitts on them again, I might lose every chance of figuring out who the prat is…

So instead, I do the only thing I can: I take a step closer so that I am crowding her and glare menacingly down at her. "Are you accusing me of something, little wife?"

She stands her ground and glares right back. "No, _husband dear_ , just asking the logical questions."

And suddenly she produces her wand with a cry of "Accio!"

I feel the little orange notebook slip out of my grip beneath my robes, only just managing to hold on to it with the tips of my fingers, and quickly cover up any suspicious movement by ostensibly stepping back, protesting "Watch out, will you! Are you trying to poke my eye out?!"

The little pest frowns and lets out a frustrated huff.

"Satisfied yet?" I indignantly sniff, for good measure. "You've got some nerve, you know, accusing me of stealing from you! You see, I, unlike _some_ people, am not a thief." I say, and look pointedly to my shirt that she's wearing and my parcel that she's holding.

"So, just a vandal, a bully and a stoner, then." She retorts. "But don't worry, your shirt's simply on loan until you restore my clothes. Believe me" the little brat adds, scrunching her nose "I take no pleasure in dressing like I'm off to a funeral on a daily basis!"

"As opposed to dressing like a homeless man or wearing your grandmother swimsuits!"

"As for your precious package" she goes on, ignoring my remark and unceremoniously shoving the parcel against me chest. "I'm actually here to return it. You see, I've learned my lesson…"

And with a scowl, the crazy witch raises her fist, as if about to clock me right in the nose. I flinch; but all she does is clench it tight until the scars across her knuckles stand out. _'I MUST NOT_ _STEAL POST'_

There's only one occasion I can think of when stealing post might have been punished by carving a lesson in her own skin…

It's a good thing next second she simply turns her back and walks away, because I don't think I could even meet her eye right now.

* * *

I lay on the sofa that is now my improvised bed, in my improvised bedroom, with a certain little orange notebook once again open on my lap, reminding me – as if any reminder were necessary - that my wife is an adulteress lover of scum that spends her free time playing elf, but otherwise providing no useful information.

Exhaling harshly, I jerk the bloody notebook shut and with an irritable flick of my wand, send it zooming into my trunk along with the useless scraps she'd kept inside it.

Then lock everything up, plump up my pillow, snuggle down as comfortably as I can possibly get in a damn sofa, and retrieve the package from the local potioneer from between the cushions.

"Well _, Professor Luwalhati, number one Potioneer, Seer and Snake-Charmer in all the Islands, Isles and Islets of the Indo-Pacific_ " I mutter, unknotting the twine and opening the parcel "time to come through…"

I pull from inside a small crystal phial. Filled with what appears to be… water? And sand. And a bit of rolled up parchment swirling around inside.

What the hell is this rubbish?!

I hold the phial upright for a minute, letting all the sand and the paper settle down at the bottom, pull out the stopper and point the tip my wand at the opening, muttering "Accio".

The little scroll flies up to my hand, drier than even the air in the room. I unfold it, to find a single line in that curly handwriting I've become all too familiar with over the past couple days.

 _Nighty night, sleep tight, husband dearest_

With a growl, I scrunch the stupid damn note in my hand.

Sleep tight?! Sleep tight?! Any chance at sleeping at all is now eradicated!

Just like any shred of guilt and pity over her damn scars! Hell, I wish I'd told Umbridge the letter was from Dumbledore himself!


End file.
